Twice Upon a Time
by Magdalync
Summary: Ranger gets a do-over; problem is, Stephanie can't remember why he'd want one. A Babe story, with an HEA, of course!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: I'll confess: I haven't done any writing since January. Not original stuff or fan fiction. Thought my muse died. Alas, she arose from the dead a few weeks ago, insisting I write this story. I'm going to warn you now: this is an amnesia story. I was resolutely opposed to writing an amnesia story because, in my opinion, it's an overdone and unrealistic concept in books and movies. But. This plotline has been nagging at me ever since I read Secret Seven by Donna B a few years ago. And all writers know, when the nagging plotline won't go away, the only way to banish it is to write it. The voices in your head will take over if you don't. ;)

This story is not heavy in angst, and is a much lighter (and much shorter) treatment of the subject than the amazing story that inspired it.

Any medical errors and misassumptions are mine. Research isn't any fun and fan fiction is _supposed_ to be fun. At least that's **my** philosophy!

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Tank angled out of the SUV just as Ranger passed through the glass doors. Newark International Airport wasn't terribly busy at this time of day; he knew Ranger would have no problem spotting him. They met at the back of the Cayenne and exchanged bare nods while Tank popped the hatch. His silent fare tossed his bags in the back as Tank climbed into the passenger seat. Ranger would insist on driving.

Fall had fully given way to winter and the steady dull grays of barren trees and overcast sky leant a foreboding air to this long awaited homecoming.

His friend looked cool and impassive as always. Black cargo pants tucked into black shit kickers. Painted on black shirt. Black wool pea coat in deference to the January cold. And mirrored aviator glasses just because.

Tank made a production of buckling his seat belt as Ranger peeled away from the curb a little faster than strictly necessary. "Shit, Rangeman, Steph's not goin' nowhere, she knows you're coming home today."

Ranger's lips thinned but he didn't say anything. Tank felt bad for the guy. Truth be told, he felt bad for the bombshell too, but she was taking things pretty well, all things considered.

Changing lanes, Ranger said, "She didn't argue about moving into my apartment." That Tank could detect incredulous doubt in Ranger's flat, matter-of-fact statement told him exactly how off kilter Ranger really was at hearing about Stephanie's predicament.

"Nope. Agreed she shouldn't be alone. Wasn't all the interested in moving in with her folks. Girlfriend might have a closed head injury with zero memory, but her self-preservation instincts are dead on. Week after week of daily familial hospital visits and Helen Plum successfully reestablished the Bombshell Eye Twitch."

Small, nearly imperceptible head shake from Ranger. "And who sold her on moving in with me?"

"First of all, you have to know that the Stephanie you're about to see isn't the Stephanie you left behind."

Ranger's knuckles blanched white on the wheel and Tank instantly regretted his poor phrasing.

"No, man, I mean … she's fine. Aside from the head injury thing and the no memory thing. But she's …" He shook his head, searching for a way to explain this new, emotionally transparent version of the most important woman in Ranger's life. "All I can say is she's the most upbeat, optimistic, trusting, and enthusiastic amnesia patient ever to walk the Earth. Even her doctors are mystified." Tank shook his head again. "If she didn't have so many friends and so much family in the area, I'd be worried about someone taking advantage of her."

"Who convinced her to move in with me?" Ranger repeated, voice hard and patience worn thin.

"You're listed on all her forms as her power of attorney. She may not have her memory, but she can still read."

"That was _her_ doing. She told me there was no way in hell a thirty year-old woman should leave her life decisions in the hands of a 'burg mother."

"Well, there's that, _and_ she noticed you were also listed as her next of kin…"

Ranger spared a glance at Tank. "Who the hell filled out her admission forms?"

"Who the hell you think? You have a whole friggin' dossier on how to deal with a bombshell crisis. There was a crisis; I grabbed her ICE file, called your lawyer and met him at the hospital."

No accolades from Ranger, but then, Tank didn't expect any.

"It'd be nice if, when you're in the wind for weeks at a time, you'd check your fuckin' messages at least once," Tank added conversationally.

"Are you my mother?"

Ranger was freaked, understandably. He'd give him a pass. When women panicked, they'd wring their hands, babble, chew their nails, cry. When Ranger panicked, he generally got real quiet and short, and generally acted like a dick.

Assuming Ranger would want some blanks filled in, Tank told him, "Lula, Connie and Mary Lou visited her in the hospital every day whenever the Plums couldn't. When she started asking the girls what they knew about this Ricardo Manoso guy, they were all too happy to describe her hot Cuban boyfriend, 1000 thread count sheets, and Ella. All that_,_ in addition to the name on the bottom of all her medical and insurance forms, and she was ready to check out AMA."

"How would those women know I have 1000 thread-count sheets?"

Tank shrugged. "Guess Steph must have told them at some point."

"They told her I was her …"

"Go on. Say it. Her _Hot Cuban Boyfriend_." Tank smiled, loving Ranger's discomfort. For all of his good qualities, Ricardo Carlos Manoso still suffered mightily from stick-in-ass disease.

No external reaction from the man, but Tank knew he'd just poked the bear. "I'm not her boyfriend," Ranger told him.

"Then who the hell is?"

Ranger did his almost shrug thing and went silent. Stupid fucker.

A few minutes later, Tank offered, "You know she and Morelli are still off."

Nothing from Ranger. In fact, if crickets were allowed to exist in a Rangeman vehicle, they'd be chirping the 1812 Overture right about now.

Tank tried again. "Cop's outta the picture. Been out since before you left. She's living in _your_ apartment, sleeping in _your_ bed and thinks _you're_ her own personal Latino Love Machine. You gonna make your move?"

Ranger scowled. "She's healing from a head injury and has no memory of me, _or_ of the three years of baggage between us, and you're asking if I'm going to make my move. You said it yourself; she could be easily taken advantage of. What kind of asshole do you think I am?"

Tank considered telling his friend that he might be the kind of asshole who possessed a vagina, but decided against it. He liked his teeth exactly where they were.

…

Not for the first time, Ranger thought of the old adage, 'Be careful of what you wish for.' There had been times in the last few years when Ranger had either wished he'd said certain things to Steph sooner, or not said other things at all. A do-over. But never at a cost of losing what made Stephanie … _Stephanie_.

He'd gone through at least a dozen emotions since Tank had gotten a hold of him, and the only positive one had been relief that she was alive. But even that momentary relief was overshadowed by the forthcoming knowledge that every second of every moment between them had been erased. Might never return.

Ranger stood outside the reinforced door to his apartment and tried to find his center. It was hopeless. He hadn't been able to find his center since the day he met Stephanie Plum. Ranger had received all Tank's messages as soon as he'd returned stateside, and the news about Steph had turned him upside-down, inside out, and out of his body all at the same time.

Stephanie got hurt picking up a skip. Knocked down cement steps. Cracked her head. Coma for a week. Recovery for four. Living in his apartment for two. Amnesia.

_Living in his apartment._

Man the fuck up, he told himself. Blowing out a breath, Ranger fobbed the door open and tossed his keys in the dish on the sideboard. Dumping his duffle on the floor in the foyer, he bent to unlace his boots. He could stall just like anyone else. The trick was to look busy while you were doing it.

There was no handbook to this: How do you introduce yourself to someone you know better than the back of your hand? How do you act with a friend and lover who won't even recognize the sound of your voice?

He'd just started on the second boot when he felt her watching him. Looking up from his task, he couldn't hold back a grin at seeing her crazy hair, her beautiful face. It'd been too long. "Babe."

Stephanie's lips parted, her eyes went wide and unblinking, and her breath caught audibly; an adorable blue-eyed doe caught in the open by the hunter.

Though it was only early evening, Steph was dressed in blue and white plaid flannel pajamas that were partially covered by a chocolate colored throw draped over her shoulders. She had fuzzy oversized socks on her feet. When she found her voice, all she said was, "Holy cow."

Her eyes were raking him from head to foot, her breath uneven, pulse fluttering at her throat. He'd been visually undressed before, and even by Stephanie, but Stephanie hadn't begun to even think about stripping him with her eyes until she was comfortable with him, had been intimate with him—after she knew for certain what he looked like under his clothes. For all intents and purposes, Steph was just meeting Ranger for the first time. She hadn't reacted to him this way the _first _first time she met him. Admittedly, it'd stung his ego a bit. But it had also had turned him on. Encouraged him to make some effort.

No, this response was closer to the reaction he'd gotten from her when she thought he was about to collect on their deal. She'd ended up drinking herself into a stupor—not a difficult task for Stephanie—and passing out on the sofa. An excellent defensive maneuver, as it turned out, because as badly as he'd wanted her, his moral gray area did not venture into any nonconsensual territory. Unconscious was about as nonconsensual as you could get.

That night stung his ego as well, not that he let it discourage him. He was a bit of a masochist when it came to Steph, he supposed.

Ranger kicked off his boots and took a tentative step toward her; he wasn't sure if she'd bolt.

She didn't move. Her eyes kept flitting between his face, his chest, his abs and—he noticed with some amusement—his groin. She just kept muttering, "holy cow," under her breath, her hands twisting at the ends of her makeshift shawl.

At a loss for what to do, he held out his hand, thinking he should introduce himself. "Carlos Manoso."

She stopped her unabashed appraisal of him instantly and frowned at his outstretched hand. "I thought you were my boyfriend." She seemed disappointed. "_Ranger_," she clarified.

_Disappointed he wasn't Ranger?_ And then he thought about what she'd really said. It was surreal hearing Stephanie Plum say the words _Ranger_ and _boyfriend_ in the same breath, referring to _him_.

He decided it wasn't worth splitting hairs.

"I go by Ranger," he told her.

The pleats marring forehead smoothed instantly, and then she was up on tiptoes, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Welcome home," she breathed.

Before he could think of how to respond to a Stephanie instigated kiss, even a chaste one, she appeared to realize her brazenness and stepped back to her original position, flushed and fidgeting. Her mannerisms were so artless and charming, he couldn't help but smile.

Seeing _that_ change in his face, Stephanie tipped a fraction to the left, bumping the wall, seemingly blinded. "Holy cow," she whispered, gobsmacked.

Grabbing her under her elbow, Ranger guided her into the living room. Stephanie seemed torn between watching where she was going and looking over her shoulder at him, as if she couldn't believe he was real.

He couldn't blame her. He couldn't believe _any_ of this was real.

Once she'd settled on the sofa, Ranger sat across from her on the coffee table, his knees bracketing hers. He made to tuck her hair behind her ear, more out of habit than necessity, but dropped his hand impotently, realizing he had to start at square one in the boundary department. Which was difficult, because he never started at square one with any woman—standard operating procedure was starting at square three or four.

Square one was for pussies and lovesick fools. He decided not to ponder which category he belonged in. Wasn't productive.

Clearly having noticed his aborted movement, Stephanie said, "It's okay, you can touch me."

He hooked the curly strands over the shell of her ear, acutely aware of her rapt gaze on his face.

She blurted, "You're so pretty."

"Babe," he said on a laugh.

"Seriously," Stephanie said shaking her head. "How the hell did I land _you_?" Before he could answer, she stood up and started pacing, the blanket falling to the floor unnoticed. "I mean, the cop, that _Joe guy_…" Steph stopped and leveled a knowing look at Ranger. "He's hot. Movie star handsome, even."

Ranger had nothing helpful to add to Steph's enthusiastic—if misguided, in his opinion—description of his arch-nemesis, so he just quirked a brow.

"But everyone tells me that he was kinda the town bike—a man whore—and that I lost my virginity to him. So I decided I must be really good in bed, or have _gotten_ really good in bed if Officer McHottie to stuck around for three years."

Ranger had to make a concerted effort to keep his face blank and to not picture Steph and the cop in bed, or the cop training her … to do anything.

He must have given off _some_ vibe, because Steph narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that it? Am I like some sort of sexual savant? A freak in bed? Cause you're … _Wow_. And I'm …" she waggled her hand in the air in a so-so gesture. "_Meh_."

She looked him up and down again, shaking her head. "A pairing like this doesn't occur in nature. Unless …" She twisted her mouth thoughtfully. "… do I do butt stuff?"

Ranger barked out a full-on laugh. And just like she did when she didn't have amnesia, her face lit up at the sound.

The hell with boundaries. Ranger stood and pulled a startled Steph up, then snug against his hips. She stiffened for a moment, then went with it, sagging into him, sliding her hands over his shoulders.

He looked at her perfect face—at least perfect to him—scrutinizing every part of it, from her shockingly crystalline eyes to the delectable cupid's bow of her upper lip. He looked at her hair, wild and electric. He remembered her body, soft and lush, just where a woman's should be.

"Babe, to me, on a scale of one to ten, you're a thirty."

She frowned a little, disbelieving. "But I have a ginormous ass."

"I'm Cuban," he told her, like that would explain everything. She continued to look perplexed, so he added, "Our men honor and revere that type of thing. Worship it, even."

Steph squeaked, "So I _do_ do butt stuff?"

Resting his forehead against hers, Ranger gave her a mischievous grin. "Not so far."

"But I'm good in bed?" she asked, bringing a hand to her mouth to gnaw on her thumbnail.

"We're good in bed. _Together_."

"So we do it a lot?" She looked both terrorized and excited. Finally, a familiar expression from Steph.

"Not near as much as I'd like," he admitted. "You've been known to turn me down from time to time." Almost every time, he amended silently.

Steph stopped gnawing a moment and gaped. "How do I say no?"

"A question for the ages, Babe," he said. Finally pulling away from her, Ranger headed for the bedroom. It'd been a long day.

She padded behind him, flopping on the edge of the bed as Ranger continued on to the closet.

Up until he'd left on this last mission, Steph's clothing took up maybe five percent of the hanging area. Mostly uniforms, but also a few distraction outfits, as well an item or two of casual wear that Steph had left behind and Ella had laundered. Steph had also been allotted a drawer for undergarments, and a small section for shoes.

Now Steph had usurped a good, solid forty percent of his closet. Maybe forty-five. Ella may or may not have had a hand in things; the entire space smelled girly. Yanking open a random drawer, Ranger found a froth of silk, lace and satin, and nestled in the center of the pile was a tiny purple embroidered pillow of sorts—a sachet?

He held it up to his nose. Yup. The source of the girly smell. He wasn't categorically opposed to girly smell, per se; he just preferred it directly on the girl.

Dropping the sachet back into the drawer, Ranger shook his head. When Steph's memory came back, he was seriously going to explain couple to her. If he was expected to hand over fifty percent of his dressing room, negotiations were in order.

Once he peeled out of everything but his cargoes, he made his way back into the bedroom. There he found Steph splayed out in her thinking position, knees hanging over the edge of the mattress, eyes closed.

Walking to her, he nudged her knee with his.

"Steph."

Her eyes popped open and she propped herself up on her elbows. "Yeah? Holy cow! _Nobody's_ stomach looks like that! Nobody!" She reached a hand forward as if the touch him, but stopped short, remembering herself.

Ranger arched a single brow, a silent dare. He couldn't help it.

She looked up into his eyes then, both amusement and frustration clear on her face. "This is weird," she told him. "I don't know how to act with you."

"That never stopped you before."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that the Stephanie Plum I know shoots now and worries about a lack of bullets later."

"Why do I think that wasn't a figure of speech?"

It was then that he noticed just the smallest measure of terror behind her blue eyes. She was scared. She was a stranger in a strange land and she'd put all her trust in some guy listed on the bottom of some forms.

Though his intent was to run through the shower, then reassess and regroup under the guise of catching up on office work, his instincts told him otherwise. He sat near her hip, his eyes focused on the wall in front of them.

"I don't know how to act, either," he admitted.

The bed dipped a little as Steph turned towards him, on her side, and she hesitantly traced her finger along a faded scar low on his back, making him harden almost instantly. Only Steph could induce a state of imminent lust with such an innocuous touch. Thank Christ he had his back to her. No sense in New Steph knowing who had all the power this early in the proceedings.

He was sure she was going to ask about the scar; he was wrong.

"We're like strangers," she stated, "but then again, we're a couple."

"Of sorts," Ranger hedged, as he looked at the floor between his feet.

Her finger froze in its path. "We're … lovers?"

He couldn't lie to her. He had no moral problem with evading certain issues, answering ambiguously, or ignoring questions all together, but he couldn't outright lie, not to her. Not about this. "We've been lovers, yes. And friends-"

Steph scrambled to her knees, looking mortified and ready to bolt. "_Been_ lovers. Not currently lovers? They implied you were my boyfriend! Lula said … We're just-Oh my God! I've been driving your cute little Mercedes since last week. I moved that stinky hamster into your pristine kitchen. All my clothes … I threw out all my ratty panties so you'd only see my best ones!" she nearly sobbed.

He grabbed her arm before she could leap off the bed and possibly out of her skin.

"Babe." He poured every ounce of intimacy in his tone, hoping to somehow reach the piece of Stephanie that belonged only to him.

She went still. It shouldn't have amazed him, but it did. Ranger moved to squat on the floor in front of her and cupped his hand behind her neck; she was clammy. "Head between your knees tiger, slow, deep breaths."

He rubbed her back while she collected herself, telling her truthfully, "You _should _be here. We're _not_ just friends. We were never _just_ friends." He looked around the room, searching for the perfect words to describe their relationship … and failed. No such words existed.

And probably he'd fuck up what he meant to say anyway. He had a special gift for doing that, he though wryly.

He could tell her he loved her, but that wouldn't really even scratch the surface. Ranger used to tell Steph that she and Joe had an unhealthy pattern of relationship. Truth was, so did he and Steph. It was hard to remember that there was a time when he thought this love triangle bullshit was fun, exciting.

A game.

Disgusted with himself, he simply admitted, "Steph, you and I are a lot alike. We do things the way we want, when we want and how we want. We forge our own paths, and we don't try to fit in."

From the small twitch of her mouth, Ranger thought maybe she wasn't surprised to hear this about herself.

"Neither one of us have ever really talked about what's between us, we've never defined it. Both of our lives are complicated. _You're_ complicated."

Steph snorted, "_My life _is complicated? I have no husband, no kids, no identifiable career path, and I possess less than some homeless people do. How am I complicated?"

"You have no idea." Ranger shook his head. "Bottom line, I trust you. I'll always have your back. And I'm pretty sure you'll always have mine."

"Pretty sure…"

"Babe, before you bumped your head, you were not the most open book in the world. Your face has always been expressive and you often made your opinions known whether it be with a razor sharp tongue or a deftly delivered hand gesture, but you are not a _talk about our feelings_ kind of girl."

"Wouldn't a guy like that?" obviously latching on to the last part of what he said.

"You'd think." Truth be told, not knowing exactly how she felt about him or what her expectations were did allow him some measure of distance, which was a desirable effect when the cop was in the picture. But mostly it drove him batshit crazy.

She frowned at him, still confused. He swore softly and then decided to just level with her. Sort of. "If you ask anyone on Stark Street, you're my woman." Both her eyebrows popped up at that. "If you ask anyone in this building, they'll tell you that you belong to me." In for a penny, in for a pound. "While you're living here with me, if you come home to me without your panties, I'm going to go out looking for the guy who has them, and it won't be pretty."

"Why would I…" she shook her head and started on a different tack. "You sound pretty domineering. Do I like that?" she asked, sounding doubtful.

"Not at all."

"But I put up with it?"

"Not really. I just ask that you keep the power plays private; my men don't need to see you getting away with things they'd never get away with."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, challenging. "Do we fight?"

He thought about it. There had been times he'd been frustrated with her, even angry, and he was damned certain she'd been angry with him in the past. But between the two of them, they'd always managed to diffuse things. He knew for a fact there'd never been a screaming match between them and he'd never once raised his voice to her.

"We've had differences of opinion," he told her. "But we've never had a proper fight, not once in three years.

"But I'm Italian," she told him, incredulous.

"And Hungarian," he added helpfully.

"My grandmother says that's probably explains how I've bagged two of the hottest men in Trenton. Hungarian pheromones."

"Babe."

"What?"

"I'm both frightened and fascinated by this unfiltered version of you."

"That's what Tank keeps saying. And Lula. And Mary Lou."

Which reminded him. "I'm curious. What exactly have people told you about me, us?"

Steph feigned sudden interest in a nonexistent snag in the stitching of his duvet. "Tank doesn't say much. He mutters under his breath, mostly, and does a lot of head shaking. But he insisted I was his responsibility until you 'got your ass home'." She'd deepened her voice two octaves and did an adorably accurate impression of his second in command.

"And Mary Lou," he nudged.

Steph still wouldn't meet his eyes. She seemed more comfortable talking to his chest. "Mary Lou said that about a month before you left, Joe and I broke up for good, and I told her if I ever even considered getting back together with him, she should strip me naked, tie my ankles to Big Blue's undercarriage and drag my ass all over New Jersey until I recanted. So I thought that moving into this Joe guy's place seemed the wrong way to go. And …" she looked down at her lap and took a deep breath. "…she didn't know anything concrete, but she was pretty sure you and I have had something going on, on the down-low, for at least the last two years … maybe while I was dating Joe." She looked up at him then, obviously miserable at the thought that she was the type of person to be unfaithful to anyone, and fairly pleading with him to dispute what she'd just told him.

He blew out a breath and stood, waiting for her to look up into his eyes. Once she did, he said, "It wasn't like that. Not how she made it sound. You and Joe … I don't really think you two had strictly defined parameters … and you two broke up and got back together a lot."

"What's a lot?"

He could have told her nineteen times in the last thirty-eight months, but he was pretty sure she'd be more horrified than he was that he knew the actual number. He said nothing.

"So I just jump from one bed to another?" she prodded.

"No."

"Then…?"

"Babe, what does it matter?"

"Apparently it matters more than you're letting on, or else you'd just tell me."

Just his luck.

Her instincts were, as always, dead on.

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><p>ICE-In Case of Emergency<p>

AMA- Against Medical Advice


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I have to tell you, I was a little verklempt (Yiddish word meaning overcome with emotion—and yes, that's your word of the day!) both by the wonderfully positive response to my story introduction, and by the number of you who took the time to post a review. I am humbled, and I thank all of you.

While this story is still a work in progress, the rough draft is over 80 percent finished, and as most of you know, I post weekly, on Fridays.

Now enough babbling from me, on with the story!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Ranger stared down at the destruction of his once elegantly made bed. Two pillows were on the floor, one was wedged between the headboard and mattress, another tucked under Steph's bent knee. The duvet had long since fallen off the foot of the bed and the sheet was wadded up in a ball near her cheek. The woman herself was centered on the king sized mattress, belly down, an explosion of limbs and curls with no discernable face.

Picking up one of the pillows, Ranger shook out the sheet and settled into the 24 inches of space she'd left him.

His mind was still going a hundred miles a minute and it killed him that he didn't have a plan, or at least someone's ass to kick _until_ he had a plan. Tank had already taken responsibility for the ass kicking prior to turning in Steph's skip. He'd also pulled strings to make sure the asshole wouldn't make bail again. Probably saved the fucker's life.

As he suspected, the doctor refused to release any information without Stephanie's permission, both verbal and in writing. He'd had no qualms about waking up the good doctor. At the same time, it didn't seem right to disturb Steph.

Why hadn't he asked her any medical questions when he'd first gotten home, before she went to sleep? Maybe it was because he was happy to see that she seemed … okay. Okay for not really being Stephanie. Maybe it was because this new Stephanie intrigued him, perhaps offering him a glimpse of the parts that Old Stephanie hid.

Or maybe it was because he'd been walking in a fog, having not slept in over 48 hours. With that thought, he drifted off.

A few hours later he woke to a human vine, stretching across his chest, clinging to his side and twined around his leg. He brushed the tickling curls away from his nose and dozed off again.

Close to dawn, he awoke to find his cock happily wedged against his bed partner's ass, his hand full of a warm, velvety breast, and more curls in his face.

Stephanie Plum drove him crazy, even in sleep.

He went running after that.

…

Stephanie blinked her eyes open to a sliver of crisp winter sunlight peeking through the blinds. She smiled at the now familiar sound of Ella squeegeeing the glass shower door in Ranger's en suite bath. The woman actually had one of those windshield cleaning wand thingies you find at gas stations.

Ella was pure, unadulterated awesomeness.

Ranger's housekeeper was nurturing and warm, and she never scowled or nagged at Stephanie, like that Ellen or Helen or whatever her name was.

Realizing her surprisingly reluctant bedmate was no longer beside her, Steph stood up, stretched, and wandered into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

"Morning, Ella," she yawned.

The trim, bustling woman grinned knowingly at Stephanie. "Your Ranger is back, yes?"

And this is why she'd been confused when Ranger had introduced himself as Carlos. She knew his name to be Ricardo; she'd read it enough times on all her records. But _everyone_ referred to him as Ranger, including her, even if it was mostly in her head.

Ella looked at her expectantly and Stephanie felt a flood of heat rush to her face, remembering that perhaps she had assumed too much when it had come to Ranger. She wasn't so certain now that this Ranger person was _her_ Ranger. But Jesus, God, she'd like him to be. And not just because of his looks or his body, which, she conceded, were about as good as looks and a body could get. The color of his skin reminded her of smooth, liquid butterscotch, and if she'd had a spoon in her hand last night, he'd be missing more than a couple of scoops. As it was, she'd had an intense urge to lick him. Everywhere.

No, there was something more. She couldn't put her finger on it. Perhaps it was a unique combination of things; nothing concrete she could put a name to. Though he was a stranger to her, it was plain to see the affection in his eyes when he looked at her, underscored by a hint of sadness. Beneath the big, beautiful warrior exterior, lurked a worried man, a regular guy. And he was being careful with her, she could tell.

He was a good guy wrapped up in badass, and for some inexplicable reason, he'd instantly made her feel safe.

Stephanie Plum had very good taste.

Giving full concentration to applying toothpaste to bristles, Steph stalled and made quasi-affirmative noises while she shoved the toothbrush in her mouth.

Not a minute later, Ella packed up her cleaning supplies and turned to Stephanie with her arms full of neatly folded bath towels. She made to hand them off to Stephanie.

Steph had to spit and rinse quickly to make her hands free; apparently she was blocking the linen closet.

Passing the fluffy stack to Steph, Ella told her, "Now that he's home, I'll go back to being invisible."

"Wait. What?"

She liked having Ella around. She wasn't intrusive. Or rather, she was just intrusive enough to make Steph feel welcome, cared for, and less lonely. She'd also kept Stephanie very well fed.

And Ella was happy to talk, to a degree. Of course, the same could be said for almost every person Stephanie Plum had contact with. Perhaps it was the nature of the beast that is amnesia, but Steph almost always felt like most people tended to hold back _something_. Like they were feeding her cleaned up version of events, so as not to send her into hysterics. Then again, perhaps they were wise; Stephanie Plum had been involved in some pretty freaky stuff.

With great frustration, Steph had realized early on in her recovery that the _other_ Stephanie Plum kept all of her Ranger secrets very close to the vest, and that this sexy Ranger guy apparently did too. Stephanie and Ranger were in _cahoots_, she thought, though she had no idea where that word came from.

The only definitive answers she could get from anyone were that: Ranger Manoso and Stephanie Plum both existed; Ranger and Stephanie were both bounty hunters; and Ranger and Stephanie had _something_ going on—for a while—and no one really knew what it was.

Nobody dared ask. The whole thing was both titillating and ominous.

She also learned that Ella was no gossip, especially regarding Ranger. At least once a day, when Steph pried too deeply about _anyone_, Ella would simply say, "I am no gossip," in lightly accented English.

It drove Steph nuts. Additionally, according to Mary Lou, the missing gossip gene indicated that Ella was not from the 'Burg.

Ella smiled as she backed her cart through the bathroom doorway. Steph followed, still clutching the towels. "I don't want you invisible! I like our chats." _I need them_, she wanted to add. Ella may not gossip, but she was a font of knowledge about the history and people in both the 'Burg and surrounding areas, and she'd known many of the men working for Rangeman for years.

The older woman pushed her cart to the foyer. "Estephanie, this has always been the protocol when you're here." Ella's no-nonsense expression softened. "If you need anything, you know what extension to dial. And Luis and I are on the 6th floor, apartment A, if you want to visit, si?"

"Si. But…but … what protocol?"

Ella looked a little nonplussed by Stephanie's reaction to her leaving. She answered kindly, "When you are in residence in his apartment, I am _never_ to enter unbidden; I am _on-call_ only."

Stephanie didn't know what to do with this new information. Ranger had different rules for Ella regarding whether or not Steph was in his apartment? What terrifyingly illicit things might Ella catch them at if she entered _unbidden_. Just the thought made her nipples hard.

But he'd said they were only lovers _of sorts_. And that they didn't have sex as often as he liked. And that she and that Joe guy got back together a lot.

Mental sigh.

Unhindered by memories or emotional ties to the man, Stephanie asked, "What about when _other_ women are in residence in Ranger's apartment?"

Her hand on the door, Ella gave her a long, loaded look. "You are special, Estephanie. No other woman has been up here." Then Ella bustled into the hall toward the shockingly open elevator doors, revealing a glistening, freshly exercised, and eavesdropping Ranger.

…

Ranger raised a sardonic brow at his aunt. Ella muscled past him into the elevator, along with her cart, and blew a nearly silent, but still unfeminine raspberry at his back.

It was hard to command proper employer/employee respect from a woman who'd changed your diapers.

After a—hopefully invisible to Stephanie—gentle prod in the lower back from the wand of Ella's squeegee, he stepped out of the elevator and into the hall. The elevator doors wooshed shut, leaving Ranger and Stephanie alone.

At some point, Steph had pulled her eyes from his torso and was now staring at the closed elevator doors forlornly.

As if remembering herself, Steph moved aside, giving Ranger room to enter the foyer. Stepping out of his running shoes, Ranger tugged a clean towel off the inexplicable stack Stephanie held in her arms. "Walk with me."

During his 5 am run, he'd tried to come up with a plan. On his 9 am run, he realized that until he talked with her doctor, and knew what Stephanie was up against, there would be no plan. He'd wing it. Also, he wouldn't worry, because worry was for pussies.

The second thing he realized was Tank was right. Life was too short. His reasons for holding back with Steph were now non-existent. Or at least they were right before he left.

Now was the time. He wanted Steph in his life.

Hopefully the old Steph. After considering what could have happened, and how much time the two of them had wasted, he'd take Old Steph, New Steph, Premenstrual Steph, or any other version she could throw at him.

In his arrogance, he'd always assumed they'd had an understanding. Someday. On his terms.

And people thought God didn't have a sense of humor.

Now he may have lost the Steph he'd fallen in love with. He never really knew for sure if the old Stephanie Plum felt the same. He'd thought she did, not that she'd ever said as much. Maybe he could make this new Stephanie fall in love with him. And maybe, if they were lucky, she'd get her memory back.

And probably kick him to the curb for taking advantage, he thought morosely.

Fuck. He needed another run.

Steph followed in his wake right up until they reached the bathroom door. Once there, she stood rooted just outside, her weird stack of towels constricted to her pajama-clad form in a twisted heap.

Holding her watchful gaze, he peeled off his socks. Slowly, so he could be sure she was very aware what was happening, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his running pants, and pushed them towards the floor.

"Ranger!" Stephanie scolded.

It was only fair, he mused. They had a history of early nude encounters in their relationship. Clearly it was his turn.

Adjusting the knobs in the shower, Ranger glanced over his shoulder. The scandalized schoolmarm was checking out his ass.

He'd have done the same. Oh, who was he kidding. He _did_ do the same. Only less obviously than she did.

"Nothing you haven't seen before," he told her as he stepped under the scalding spray.

Even with his eyes closed, he knew she hadn't left. Couldn't leave. Curious. Indignant. The two main ingredients of Stephanie.

A sudden shift in the air told him she'd not only entered the bathroom proper, but had opened the shower door. Finished dousing his hair, he wiped water from his face and skimmed back his hair.

She took him in, with zero shame, and no small amount of hunger.

"Seems like this should trigger a memory…" she said, her tone somewhat academic.

"It's definitely triggering something."

Her eyes darted down. "Holy cow!" She slammed the shower door shut with a bang and plopped down on the closed toilet lid.

After a minute she said, "Stephanie's a very lucky girl." Both embarrassment and laughter were evident in her voice.

Ranger smiled as he started working his shower gel into a lather. "I thought _you_ were Stephanie."

"I wish," she lamented. "I'm Un-Stephanie. I'm a woman with a movie-plot life, an otherworldly beautiful man trophy of a boyfriend, and no memory of how I got any of it."

Ranger didn't know what to say. "Man trophy?"

"It was a compliment. Hey, so does it get any bigger than that, cause I gotta say-"

"Does _what_ get any bigger." He knew exactly what she was talking about. So did his dick. Both thought it best to keep their own council.

"So I'm really the _only_ woman you've had up here?"

Ah, there it was. He'd been waiting. "Other than Ella, yes."

"Ever?"

"Babe."

"You know it's really frustrating when you do that."

Ranger wiped the shampoo from his eyes. "What, Babe."

"When you don't really want to dwell on a question of mine, you just say _'Babe'_, leaving me to draw my own conclusions. Like you just want to move on. I bet it drove me nuts. And anyway, how's not answering me _now_ supposed to help me?"

He felt almost guilty talking to this Stephanie. She didn't hold back much, if anything. He wasn't really sure the Stephanie he knew would like her thoughts about him broadcast _to_ him. He hedged, "Never seemed to bother you before."

"How do you know? Maybe I just never _told you_ it bothered me. You already said I didn't talk about my feelings."

Huh. She had him there.

"Never. I've never brought another woman up here. Only you. You have a key fob. You've had it for some time, with the understanding that you can always use it whenever you'd like. Most of my cars are at your disposal as well."

She was quiet while she digested this. Which was brave of her, because he tried very hard not to dwell on all the personal rules he'd broken for her, all the actions he'd made that fairly screamed a commitment he'd always implied he couldn't offer. Both he and Stephanie made a good show of pretending they didn't know exactly how fucked up their relationship really was, all the while also pretending said relationship didn't exist.

"So how long did we know each other before I saw that lethal weapon you got there?" she asked.

He'd have been flattered by the description, but considering Stephanie's tone, she didn't sound like she was looking forward to renewing her membership to the Ruin Yourself With Ranger club. Her inflection hinted that she thought a part A and slot B connection were highly improbable.

He sighed. "A while."

"Define a while."

"Seven … no, eight months."

"Hmph."

She was unimpressed. "Imagine if you had to wait seven or eight months for a Boston crème donut," he told her. Surely her love of Boston crèmes transcended amnesia.

"That's ridiculous. No sane person would wait nearly a year for a pastry."

"Never claimed to be sane, Babe. Why the question?"

"Because you're suddenly naked now, less than 24 hours after I met you. And it made me think-"

"_It_ made you think?" he teased.

"Would you stop it? You have a strange sense of humor."

"You used to call it Ranger humor."

"I told you that?"

"You mutter under your breath a lot."

"So we didn't see each other naked for eight months," she continued.

"I saw you naked less than a week after meeting you."

"You slut!"

"Babe."

"Oh, not _you_. I was talking to me."

Ranger shut off the shower, snagged the towel hanging from the glass door and wrapped it around his hips.

Stepping out, he said, "You're not a slut. Not even close. I'd just met you a few days before. Connie probably told you about it." At Stephanie's nod, he went on. "You were trying to bring in Joe. He was FTA. Morelli was pissed that you not only commandeered his truck, but also hid his distributor cap. He busted into your apartment while you were in the shower, handcuffed you to the rod and tossed your apartment."

"And your role in this was…"

Ranger wondered for the first time if he should actually be feeding her these memories. Wasn't she supposed to wait for them to come back on their own?

Steph rotated her hand impatiently, "Just tell me. All those amnesia movies and stories are a load of crap. The best thing you can do is share my memories with me. Tell me stories, show me pictures, play me music, take me to familiar places. Anything might be a trigger."

The shared a spontaneous smile as they both remembered the last thing she triggered.

"Morelli left you like that, naked and chained up" he continued, "but he gave you the phone so you could dial for help."

"What a pig!" Steph's eyes narrowed to slits. "Who was I supposed to call that wouldn't embarrass me? I supposedly went to grade school with half the 'Burg, and I'm related to the other half! Why the hell would I waste the last three years of my life on this asshat?"

He'd asked himself that very same question. Then again, Ranger had never made good on his threat to ruin her for all other men, or to make her forget about Morelli. He didn't want to hear what creative names she'd thought up for _him_ back before the amnesia.

Stephanie turned to watch as he applied shaving cream to his face and neck. "So I called you because I barely knew you? Because I knew you could break into my apartment easily?" she asked.

Ranger shrugged. "Don't know why. But Babe, your grandmother could break into your apartment. No special skills needed."

He could see she was surprised to hear he was familiar with her family. It was clear she was having a hard time figuring out how to frame their relationship. She was in good company.

"I _must _have felt some level of trust in you," she decided. She said it like it was case closed, done deal, no longer up for discussion.

Ranger dipped his razor in the milky water, then tapped it on the sink's edge. "How do you figure that?"

"I feel like I trust you _now_. I slept really well last night for the first time since … and it wasn't until after you came to bed. And you're a stranger to me." She shrugged. "I can't explain it. I've had this knot in my stomach since I woke up in her body and it's still there, but it's looser, kind of a more distant feeling."

She _was_ scared. As much as she thought of Stephanie Plum as some other person, the woman he loved was shining through with her bravado, her inquisitive nature, her enthusiasm for making the best of a shitty situation.

Steph folded her arms on the counter, rested her chin on top and looked up at him shaving, batting her eyelashes. "Did you look?"

"What?"

"When you came to uncuff me from the shower rod. Did you look?"

"I'm a man."

"But you're a man who waited eight months for a pastry."

Touché.

"Let me guess," she said. "You looked, but in such a way I didn't notice you looked."

Ranger twisted his mouth into a shaving contortion to hide his smile. Her female logic was alarmingly intact.

They were quiet then, him shaving, her watching, and he thought for a moment how much he liked having her here. How he wished things were different. How he wanted to kick his own ass that they weren't this open and honest with each other from the beginning.

He knew he shouldn't fault either of them. He was three years younger then and cockier than a sailor on his first leave. And while still morally right, at least twenty-five percent of his business dealings at the time were further left of strictly legal than he'd like to admit. He'd also still been under government contract.

Stephanie had been somewhat recently divorced, from The Dick, no less, and was understandably jaded and mistrustful.

Neither had been looking for anything serious, and even if they had been, neither had any _serious_ to give. They'd thought they were playing a game.

Rinsing his face, Ranger told her, "You need to get ready." He patted dry and turned to her, resting a lean hip against the counter. "I'd like to talk to your doctor today, with your permission. And then we're going to play Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle do Trenton."

Stephanie's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a kinky sex game?"

He wished. "I'd like to walk with you through some of our old haunts."

"I've tried that with Lula, Connie, Mary Lou, Carl, Eddie, Joe, Val, my mom ... oh, and Tank too."

"I'd like you to try with me." He refused to ask about Joe.

She bit at her lip. "I don't want you to have your feelings hurt if it doesn't work. They were all really nice about it, but people seem to take it really personally when you can't remember them."

He knew the feeling. When Tank first told him, he'd felt absurdly disappointed to hear her amnesia extended to forgetting him. As if he thought their connection would transcend her head injury and medical probability.

"If it doesn't work, the worst that will happen is we'll spend the day together."

Her brow puckered. "Don't you have to work?"

"This is more important."

Steph looked back and forth between Ranger and the shower, or more specifically, between Ranger's abs and the shower. "You're not going to stay and watch me take a shower, are you?"

His lips twitched into an almost smile. "Not today."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I should have mentioned earlier: this story, and most of my other fan fiction stories only encompass canon material up through book 12. That is where I choose to believe the series ended. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

There were three things Stephanie learned very quickly about Ranger Manoso. One, he had to have a plan; two, he had some sort of bizarre efficiency compulsion; and three, if he spoke with a Spanish accent, he kind of sounded like The Most Interesting Man in the World. You know, the Dos Equis beer guy?

_Stay thirsty, my friends_.

They'd stopped off in the control room before leaving the Haywood building, and she'd had the good fortune of hearing Ranger—who was dressed in head to toe black, looking both edible and deadly—speaking Spanish with Hector. On the elevator ride down to the garage, she'd asked Ranger to say something in Spanish to her. She wasn't certain, but from the glint in his eye, and the way she felt absolutely naked when he'd said it, she was pretty sure he'd said something very naughty.

Then she'd asked for something in English, but with a Spanish accent, specifically the tagline from the Dos Equis commercials that made her laugh while she was recuperating. When he'd completed the second request, she'd nearly asked to return to the seventh floor for a panty change.

But back to the control freak issues.

Once they'd left Haywood, Ranger took her to breakfast at the downtown café where he'd told her they'd first met. There, in the booth, Ranger pulled out his iPhone and showed Steph a mini spreadsheet of their itinerary for the day. There were occasionally sub-tasks listed of things to accomplish while at certain bullet pointed locations. She even noticed he'd scheduled a phone conference with her doctor for a time when they were in transit from one location to another.

He was allergic to wasted time.

No tsunami wave of memories washed over her when they walked into the diner, or while they ate breakfast. The only thing she learned was that mentioning Joe's name elicited the smallest, almost microscopic muscle twitches on the right side of Ranger's jaw, just below his ear. Blink, and you'd miss it.

An absurd need to see if she could repeatedly provoke even the smallest reaction out of this otherwise seemingly reactionless man, she needlessly reiterated what she'd just finished telling him, only adding detail. "So like I said, unless you and me and Joe spent a lot of time as a _threesome_, we don't need to swing by his house."

Almost imperceptible nod from Ranger. He didn't look up from his iPhone, just kept tapping at the screen.

And twitching.

"…or go to the Tasty Pastry…"

_twitch_

"…or to the garage behind his mom's house…"

He cut his eyes to her on that last statement. From what she'd gathered, that was the Ranger equivalent to rearing back in shock.

"Care to explain?"

Huh. Was he jealous? Or possessive? Both? "Explain what, exactly?" She sopped up the meager vestiges of bacon grease on her plate with the last remaining pancake. Then she shoved it in her mouth and chewed slowly, testing his patience. She was pretty sure he had a lot, considering his Boston crème analogy.

"What you and Joe tried to recapture in the garage."

She chewed another fifteen seconds, her index finger in the air. "You don't have to make it sound so dirty," she said, taking a swig of her coffee.

He sighed—inaudibly—and set his phone down.

Pushing her plate aside and wiping her mouth, she told him, "Well first of all, Mary Lou was there."

Ranger leaned in, his voice lowered significantly. "Let me get this straight. You, the cop and Mary Lou shared a _significant memory_ in the garage behind Morelli's childhood home. In the last three years? Lenny know about this?"

His face was devoid of any discernable emotion, as if her answer mattered not at all. Which, she was guessing, meant it _did_ matter.

Probably she'd pushed too far. Mary Lou said Stephanie did this all the time with Joe, and that the arguments between the couple were legendary, setting 'Burg records in volume, colorful epithets, and arm waving. Apparently pushing Ranger had a different effect. He became very quiet. Very still. It was a little disconcerting.

"No," she said carefully. "Mary Lou went as a chaperone for our trip down memory lane. She said it was necessary because Morelli couldn't be trusted on account of his lizard tongue and my jelly donut hormones, whatever that means."

His jaw didn't pulse, but his left eye gave a shadow of a twitch when she'd said the words _lizard tongue_.

"It's not like we reenacted anything! Jeez!"

Ranger signaled for the check. "Calm down babe, I didn't accuse you of anything."

"Hah!"

The entire café had gone silent the moment she went loud, turning as one to look at her. Which was novel, because since they'd arrived, she'd noticed that people _really_ liked to look at Ranger. Raptly. Continuously. Dreamily. Especially the women.

Ranger ignored them all. "Do I want to know what this significant garage memory was?" His question was posed casually, almost rhetorically. She'd almost believe that if he hadn't pretty much asked virtually the same question four times in the last sixty seconds.

Did he think she was an idiot? There was no way in hell she was going to tell a quietly seething mercenary boyfriend that his one time rival and occasional colleague of sorts digitally penetrated her before the 1st grade. She shuddered at the knowledge, despite having no memory of the event.

"You know," she started. "What I think is, if I didn't confide something in you _before_ the amnesia, I must have had a reason."

Like making sure Boyfriend B wasn't listed as cause of death on Boyfriend A's autopsy report.

He probably didn't like her answer, but he didn't argue either.

There was no sudden recall at Sunny's Gun Shop, but she did enjoy watching Ranger browse. Sunny's was to Ranger as the MAC counter at Macy's was to almost any woman.

Then Ranger tried to re-teach her how to shoot a gun.

"God you smell really good," she moaned.

He was plastered against her back, his muscular arms bracketing hers, his hands clasping her grip around the gun.

"Focus, Babe."

She squinted at the target. Felt the steady thud of his heart against her back. Took a deep breath in … and got another whiff of that nummy Bulgari stuff …

…and twitched her bottom against his groin.

"Focus on the _target_, Stephanie."

"It's hard!"

"No kidding," he muttered.

Their third stop was Vinnie's; her expectations were low. She'd been here twice already, once with Tank and once with Lula. The only thing that came to her either time was the conclusion that it was not safe to touch any surface inside the building, save Connie's desk.

"Ladies," Ranger greeted, hand low on Stephanie's back.

Connie smiled up at Steph as she passed a small stack of files to Ranger.

"How you doing, Steph? Still have the headaches?"

Steph shrugged. She did, but they were nowhere near as bad as they had been. And after a month, they became the new normal, tolerable.

Lula hefted herself off the couch, drawing attention to her ensemble. A leather bustier covered about sixty percent of Lula's upper endowments. Steph suspected the only thing protecting the greater Tri-State area from witnessing a catastrophic wardrobe malfunction was the turquoise thigh length jacket Lula wore, bedecked with shiny brass buttons, braided trim, and epaulets at the shoulders.

Ranger looked up from his file perusal and grinned. "Lookin' good, Lula."

Cocking one hip, Lula set her hand on her thick waist, giving the room at large a much better view of her left breast. No nipple, thank God.

Lula said, "This here outfit _speaks_. It says I honor the troops, past and present, _and_ I embrace my raw animal sexuality."

"Really?" Connie asked. "To me it says Barbarella wants a gang-bang with Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."

Ranger barked out a laugh, and the sound made Steph's heart feel like bursting. Which was weird.

She didn't understand Connie's reference, but she learned quickly enough to just go with the reactions of the people around her. It drew less attention to the fact that she felt lost most of the time, and she couldn't stand the well meaning but pitying looks people gave her.

Lula sniffed at Connie's joke and made a production of ruffling and resettling the lapels of her jacket. The brass buttons and her bejeweled nails sparkled under the fluorescent lights. "I'll have you know I got this here coat off the World Wide Web, if you can believe it. Mmm-hmm. _Etsy_, that's the name of the site. And they don't just sell dope shit like this; they sell crafty shit, too. You know there's this lady that sell throw pillows that look like cootchies? And no two alike. Nuh-uh. Vaginas are a lot like snowflakes in that regard," she told us.

That brought about a moment of stunned silence. No one knew what to say after that.

Tucking the files into Steph's bag, Ranger gave both women a nod of farewell. Grabbing her under the elbow, he wrangled Steph quickly out the door.

Steph sputtered, "Wait! What if I wanted to visit some more?" She may not remember Connie and Lula from before, but she still liked them. Stephanie Plum had interesting friends.

"We have a schedule."

"Hey, your car's the other way." The sidewalks had been shoveled, thankfully, and Ranger guided her past the front window of the bonds office, and around a small pile of filthy snow at the mouth of an alley.

Steph dug in her heels. "And an alley is on our schedule?"

Pulling his iPhone off his hip, Ranger opened the spreadsheet document.

Huh.

_Alley_. Right after _Vinnie's_ and before lunch at _Big Jim's_.

Weirder and weirder.

The next thing she knew, they were deep in the alley and she was pinned up against the building. Both of their coats were somehow open, allowing her to feel every hard inch of him from chest to knees, his heat seeping into her. Dark chocolate eyes were suddenly darker. He looked down at her, serious, intent, studying her eyes, then her lips.

She felt hot. Dizzy.

She couldn't breathe.

And then he kissed her. Holy cow, did he kiss her. She moaned into his mouth, moaning again when the kiss deepened. So lost in the feel of him, the taste, the textures, the undeniable heat, it took her a while to realize how she was kissing him back. Passionately. Familiarly. Instinctively. She recognized his kiss on some level.

God, she wished she could remember him.

Ranger gentled the kiss, pulling back slightly, their lips clinging until they parted. She realized that at some point, hands that had been caressing her, gripping her, pulling her into him, were now cradling her face.

Their foreheads touching, she opened her eyes to see that his were still closed. Like he was remembering.

Or wishing.

He held still a moment longer, his lids shuttered closed, rubbing the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks.

Then he pulled back and looked at her. And likely knew from her face.

She still didn't remember him.

…

Tiny smoky clouds slipped from Stephanie's well-kissed lips, the arctic air providing proof she couldn't catch her breath. A single kamikaze snowflake lazily drifted down between them, finally settling on the tip of her nose.

She crossed her eyes to see it, making them both laugh. It was a light-hearted inch of time compressed between miles of silence. They stayed in their intimate position, pressed together like spoons, neither in a hurry to move or speak.

He realized then what a strange thing it was to have someone stand right in front of you, and still not be able to find them.

She kissed the same. Kissed him like she remembered how they kissed. Like she knew how they were together, how long they'd wanted each other, and exactly how many times they'd denied themselves. She kissed him like she remembered how it felt to have him inside her, like she wanted him there again.

And he let himself believe. From the moment she moaned into his mouth, he let himself imagine her was reaching her. _His_ Stephanie.

Until he opened his eyes.

The blue eyes staring back were heavy lidded, aroused. But she wasn't there. There was no way to explain what was missing, _the knowing_. She didn't _know_ him, not like Stephanie did.

Stephanie spoke first, her voice quiet, subdued. "Is this where we had our first kiss?" The note of apology in her question confirmed what he already knew. She still didn't remember him. Them.

"Not our first. But our most."

She nodded in understanding. "So that was our _second_ first kiss. Not a lot of people get one of those." They shared a small smile before she dropped her focus to his chest. "Do you remember our first kiss?"

"Like it was yesterday."

She nodded again like she expected that answer.

Eyes back to his. "I'm sorry."

He kissed her forehead lightly, a habit. "For what, Babe."

"For forgetting you."

Her eyes shimmered, but she quickly blinked back the emotion she was unwilling to display. He didn't want her to hide anything from him. Not this time. He rubbed a thumb under her eye, and though her skin was dry, he was letting her know he saw the tears she refused to shed.

"Not your fault," he told her. He trailed his thumb down her check, smudged it across her full lower lip, finally dropping his hand to her waist.

She gave him a shaky grin, more bravado than anything, he was sure. "It was a pretty good kiss," She told him. "On a scale of one to ten, I'd give it a thirty."

Pulling her from the wall and into his arms, he smiled into her hair. She was referring to their conversation yesterday, when she had doubts about being attractive enough for him. On a one to ten scale, he'd rated her a thirty, too.

New memories. Ones they could both share.

He stopped himself short of wondering if that could ever be enough.

…

They decided to return to Haywood after that. Stephanie had looked tired and strained, and once they'd pulled into the garage, she'd admitted her head was hurting. She needed a nap. The doctor had told him the headaches were normal, for a time, and as long as they didn't increase in intensity or duration, it was nothing to be overly concerned about. Perhaps he'd pushed too hard this morning, trying to cram months of memories into a single day. There was no rush.

He mentally divvied up the remainder of their day's schedule over what was left of the week. Big Jim's tomorrow, he thought. Maybe her parents' the next day. Rosinni's for dinner the day after that.

Catching up on work at the desk in his bedroom, he looked across the expanse between his desk and the bed and saw that Stephanie hadn't fallen asleep yet.

He smiled at her position in the center of the bed, spread-eagle and sunny side up.

"You know you used to call how you're lying the thinking position," he told her.

She blinked, unsure she'd been spoken to. Then she lifted only her head, chin to chest, and looked at him owlishly. "Yeah? Well _I_ call it my head freaking hurts and I can't sleep position."

Backing up his work, Ranger logged out and closed his laptop. Climbing onto the bed, he laid on his side, facing Stephanie, who'd turned toward him.

One hand tucked under her pillow, the other resting on the bed, Stephanie stared back at him, unblinking.

"I'm scared," she said.

Here she'd warned him not to get his hopes up today and she looked like she was the one who hadn't heeded the advice.

He reached across the eighteen inches of mattress between them and closed his hand over her smaller one. "I know."

They stared at each other for an eternity before Steph squeezed her eyes shut. A heartbeat later, a single tear leaked out and rolled across the bridge of her nose, falling to the sheet below.

Christ, now he had to make a decision: Did he stay on his side, offering silent support, allowing her the distance to pull it together, or did he reach for her and hold her?

Past experience, namely Mama Macaroni's funeral, told him if he went with instinct—to hold her—Steph's control on her emotions would shatter. And she _really_ hated that.

Fuck it.

Hooking an arm around her waist, he scooped her into his body and was shocked to feel her trembling just before she gave into her tears.

He'd never seen her let go like this, not really. At the funeral, she wasn't crying out of pain and loss, she was crying for the ritual itself, and for the thoughts and feelings the ritual evoked.

For some people it was a certain piece of classical music, or hearing your country's national anthem. For others it could be hearing bagpipes playing _Oh Danny Boy_ or _Amazing Grace_. For many, it was witnessing a twenty-one gun salute, even if it's just on TV.

For Steph, it was funerals. Any funeral. It started when Lord's Prayer was offered, and snowballed out of control when the priest invoked _Ashes to Ashes_…

According to Steph, she'd had a similar reaction when the drums and flags went by in a parade.

But this was different. She was terrified, alone, and she'd held it together far too long.

He didn't shush her when she unraveled into hiccupping sobs, he didn't murmur nonsensical phrases—bullshit like _it's okay, it's all right_—because he couldn't lie to her. Probably it would be okay, maybe it would work out all right. Nobody could say with 100 percent certainty that she'd get her memory back. Quite frankly, it concerned the doctors that it had been longer than a week or two. A permanent loss with her type of injury was rare. But it was possible.

So he pressed his lips to her hair, her forehead, ran his hand down the length of her back. He absorbed every tear of her heart-rending, wracking cry, wishing he could lie to her.

"It's … it's-" _hiccup,_ "it's like being dumped in some foreign place where I'm lost and everyone's a-" _hiccup,_ "stranger to me" _hiccup,_ "but all the strangers know me, they know _everything_ I forgot, it's like everyone has a secret … and not even-" _hiccup_, "talking to my daddy can make me feel safe or better 'cause I _don't fucking know my daddy_!" she wailed.

"I'll keep you safe," he murmured into in her hair, his voice thick in his throat. He doubted she could even hear him.

After a few minutes more, she settled into shaky, stuttering attempts to take slow, deep breaths. When she spoke, her exhaustion was evidenced by her voice. "I'm sorry."

He reached back and grabbed a tissue from the box on his nightstand, then wiped her beautiful, blotchy red face, attempting to minimize her raccoon eyes in the process. He thought she looked oddly adorable in the moment, but he knew she'd be embarrassed by her appearance.

After quietly thanking him she asked, "Did I do that a lot? Before?"

He shook his head.

"Ever?"

He made a vague semblance of a shrug and told her about Mama Macaroni's funeral; even admitting he'd laughed at her.

"And that's it?"

Another shrug. He couldn't speak for what she did when he wasn't around her, or was busy bleeding out on her living room floor. He sure as hell wasn't going to suggest she ask the cop.

She snuggled back into his chest, sighing heavily, any awkwardness regarding touching him long gone.

Apropos of nothing she said, "It seemed like I waited forever to finally meet you, this name I kept seeing, hearing. _Ricardo Manoso_. _Ranger_. I spent hours wondering who this guy was. This man who was not my father, not my husband. This person I trusted with my life. In my head it gave you powers."

"Like Batman powers?" he teased, trying to lighten the moment.

She laughed. "No, like the power to make me remember. Or at least the power not to be scared."

"Babe, everyone gets scared."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

"Shit."

He encouraged her to roll over and pulled her back into his body, her rump snug against his groin. "You should try to nap," he said into her neck.

"'Kay."

A few minutes later, she spoke again, just as Ranger was about to drift off. "Ranger?"

"Mmm."

"I was just thinking. Over the last few weeks, I've heard story after story about the stupid things I did as a kid, trouble I got into in high school, the cheating scumbag that I married, and cars I've blown up."

"No wonder your head hurts. No one told you any good stories?"

"You. You told me good stories. And people told me good stories about you. About us. It seems you're the one thing Stephanie Plum did right."

He gave her a squeeze, having no words.

Then he held her while she slept, mentally tabulating all the things the old Stephanie Plum would say he'd done wrong.

And she'd be right.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Regarding one section of this chapter: no disrespect intended toward any religion, just having fun with the possibilities of Steph's fresh perspective on things.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

"My office." That's all Ranger said. Steph pulled the handset away from her head and glared at the receiver. "You have no manners! Argh!"

Manny peeked over the adjoining cubical wall, eyes disbelieving.

"Oh, he already hung up, don't worry," she assured him. Settling the handset back in its cradle, she gathered up her notebook, a pen, her cell phone, her new iPad, just because, and—at the last minute—a Hershey's Kiss from her drawer.

New Steph and Old Steph shared a sweet tooth, she was told.

They also shared a talent for running searches. Ranger hadn't been home 48 hours when Steph begged him to let her work. It was one thing to be left to your own devices when, at the very least, you had your own thoughts and memories to entertain you. But to have nothing except "who am I?" bouncing around the old noggin day after day, well, it was both maddening and boring to say the least.

She'd give anything to have more than a couple months of post-injury memories to reflect on. Everyone was kind and considerate of her—almost annoyingly so—because of her _cognitive status_. People asked little of her, expecting nothing. She felt like a delicate little bomb everyone was aware of, but no one had the guts breathe on, let alone defuse.

Essentially, she'd had little reason and zero inspiration to try out the broadest spectrum of emotions beyond bored, vaguely depressed, frustrated, lonely, scared, and on one rare occasion, sniveling hysteria. She was sure she owned better, more dramatic, yet dignified emotions.

They looked really juicy on Days of our Lives.

She'd like to try out an order of seething jealousy for a starter, maybe move onto burning regret as a main dish? Then finish up with a big, heaping dose of guilt for desert. Her sister Valerie explained that her mother would be responsible for offering her that particular confection, but wasn't sure Steph would fully appreciate the flavor since she'd forgotten the entirety of her Catholic upbringing.

No memories, no dog in any particular fight, no exciting emotions.

Well, except for maybe the hysteria and depression, if you really slowed down to think about things.

Which she didn't. For the most part.

Since wall climbing and soap opera watching seemed to greatly reduce Ranger's home office productivity, he cleverly suggested that it was time for them both to return to the 5th floor where she could be retrained to do searches.

He also did something with the cable box. No more Stefano Dimera for Stephanie.

She picked up search training quickly, making her wonder if it was because it had been stored in the portion the brain where one retained things like how to ride a bike, read, or brush your teeth.

Or have sex. She was certain she'd know what to do when Ranger lifted his no-sexual intercourse embargo against the United States of Stephanie. If he didn't want to go all the way, she thought, he shouldn't have kissed like he did in the alley.

And anyway, Lula was helping to fill in the blanks. She'd leant Stephanie a small stash of filthy-dirty erotica novels. Also, at Lula's suggestion, Steph _may_ have downloaded some free lady porn to the iPad Ranger had given her last week. She was admitting nothing.

Lula called it occupational therapy, on account of Steph lived with a man who couldn't help but '_exude undiluted sex appeal from every pore of his criminally perfect body_', and as far as Lula was concerned, it was Steph's occupation to keep her man satisfied.

And so she'd been back to work for the last two weeks. She only worked four hours a day. Much more than that and the exhaustion and headaches returned with a vengeance. Her shift floated from day to day depending on how she felt, or appointments she might have.

Rapping her knuckles on the doorframe, she waited for Ranger's curt "Enter," to come in.

Ranger sat behind a desk of dark walnut, concentrating on a set of blueprints spread out in front of him, probably security specs for a new client. He shook his head as he flipped back and forth between the two overlapping plans. Telling her he'd be with her in a moment, he erased a small detail on the curled page, and scribbled a notation nearby.

Steph sat quietly in one of the two guest chairs, her hands smoothing over the arms of rich leather, finding a level of sensuality in the decadent texture. Ranger looked dead sexy in his crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to mid forearm, exposing smooth skin stretched over taut muscle and carved sinew. The tie he was wearing when he left the apartment was neatly folded and left on the edge of his credenza, a good indicator that he was finished with client meetings for the day.

While he made some more adjustments and notations on the blueprints, Steph pondered the many versions of this man she'd seen since he'd come home. There was the Home From Unknown Overseas Assignment Ranger, which was similar to Day-to-Day Ranger, minus the pea coat. He leaned toward leather jackets and alphabet agency windbreakers when he was on the continent.

Then there was Saturday Ranger. He had once been sighted wearing faded jeans, soft as chamois, with a dark long-sleeved Henley. Another time he wore a thick cable knit sweater of the richest cream, which should have tempered his extreme masculinity, somewhat, but instead inexplicably enhanced it.

Tied for first place were Black Silk Boxer Ranger and Low Slung Towel Ranger. Low Slung Towel Ranger had a slight edge, as the potential for unintentional nudity was fractionally higher. Boxers rarely just fell off, much to Stephanie's disappointment.

Oh, she was a big, fat liar. Naked Ranger was her favorite. She had a private showing every evening. After work but before dinner, Ranger would unapologetically strut his very fine business on the catwalk that ran between the dressing room and the en suite bath. It was stunning.

She could have seen more of him except she had a small panic attack whenever she tried to picture what exactly he meant when he told her he was _good in the shower_.

Twice now she'd seen corporate Ranger. He was her second favorite. The contrast of the white shirt against his burnt caramel skin, the way the tailored black slacks so lovingly skimmed his hips, hugged his delectable ass…

"Babe."

"Huh?"

"You have the same expression Augustus Gloop had right before he fell into Willy Wonka's chocolate river."

She didn't know either of the guys he mentioned, but picturing a slow moving river of deep, dark chocolate made her salivary glands engage.

Fine, engage _more_.

Checking for drool, she brought her focus back to Ranger. He'd already rolled up the blueprints, repackaged them in their tube, and set them aside.

Forearms resting on the desk, his fingers loosely woven, Ranger was ready to give her 100 percent of his focus. "How did your appointments go?"

Steph had left the apartment almost as early as Ranger this morning, and knowing he had meetings, hadn't wanted to bother him when she'd returned. "The MRI was noisy and claustrophobic, as usual. Neurologist was the same. Blah-blah-blah, retrograde, blah-blah-blah, Glasgow Outcome Scale, blah- blah-blah Brain Cloud-"

"_Brain Cloud?"_

"Just kidding. I got that from Joe Versus the Volcano. Watched it on Netflix the other day," she said as she waggled her iPad in the air. Ranger gave her his thinking about smiling smile. "Seriously though, the MRI results will take a few days. He suspects that everything will look normal."

"That's it?"

Stephanie crossed her legs, locked into Ranger's attentive dark eyes and waited a beat. "I'm cleared for sexual activity."

Ranger blinked but showed no outward signs that she'd shocked him. Which was disappointing because she'd been trying to. Stupid man flipped on her sexual circuit breaker a few weeks before in that alley, and now he didn't have the decency to utilize her, uh …_outlet_, so to speak.

Ranger said, "Just because you _can_ have sex, doesn't mean you _should_."

"If you don't use it, you lose it," she countered.

His gaze lingered suggestively in the vicinity of her crotch, making her girly parts tingle. He said, "I'm pretty sure it's not going anywhere."

_It could_, she wanted to argue, but they'd both know she'd be lying. She seriously doubted there was a vagina on Earth that would ever leave Ranger voluntarily.

"I don't understand why you get to unilaterally decide that we can't have sex."

"It's _because_ you don't understand why I get to unilaterally decide. Between the two of us, I'm obviously the only one who can see that reasons actually exist why we shouldn't have sex at this point in time." He hadn't raised his voice, but a hint of command flavored his tone. In fact, his voice was lower, quieter, his diction more precise. It should have intimidated her. Instead it turned her on.

And don't think she didn't notice he'd said _at this point in time_. That meant the only thing that stood between Stephanie and a Ranger induced orgasm was some subtle encouragement. She thought for a moment and drew an idea from her recent erotica research. Chin tipped down, she looked up coyly through her lashes. "Do you think I'm being naughty today?"

Ranger blinked. "What?"

"Maybe I need a spanking," she said hopefully.

"I'm just gonna come back later," Lester announced from the open doorway.

Ranger brought both of his hands to his face in prayer position. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. Repeatedly. "Did you knock, Santos?"

"Maybe?"

"Go."

Probably she should be mortified, but from what she knew of Lester, shame was a wasted emotion.

After Lester excused himself, he closed the door. Ranger said, "What has gotten into you, Steph."

"Lately? No one." Her heart was thudding in her chest, but her tingly parts were humming with greedy anticipation. She was going to power through the panic.

"Stephanie," he chastised.

"What? I'm horny! Yeesh. And I don't understand why we can't have sex. You're single. I'm single. I'm attracted to you. At night, when I snuggle up to you, your penis says you're attracted to me…" Ranger cringed at her use of the word _penis_. "…And according to you, we're _lovers, of sorts_." She used air quotes around his annoying phrasing.

She continued, "So unless you're going to propose an amendment to the 'no coming home without my panties' policy, you're going to have to put out."

"No."

"What do you mean, _no?_ I have needs!"

"And whether you realize it or not, one of those needs is for your partner to protect your best interest when you can't."

Her eye started twitching so she slapped a hand over it. "What kind of stupid sex god are you? Why can't you just be a _guy_ and do me?"

"That's not a destination that works well for us."

"So we're just going to never have sex," she said, petulant. She knew she was being churlish and overly dramatic, but this was the first semi-fight she could remember having, and it was kind of hard to harness her frustration and think logically at the same time.

"Not until you get your memory back."

Dropping her hand from her face, she cast him a significant look. "And what if I never get it back?"

He broke off eye contact, rearranged a few items on his desk. "We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it."

Stephanie laughed. "Exactly where is this bridge? Is there some magical memory deadline date, known only to you, when unicorns will come prancing down Haywood Street, and monkeys are going to fly out of my ass?"

There was a knock on his door, a real one this time, and she could swear she heard relief in Ranger's bark to enter.

It was Tank and he was holding a stack of skip files.

Taking her cue, Stephanie stood, forgetting she still had a notebook, pen, iPad, and cell phone on her lap. Everything fell to the floor. Tank stepped forward and picked up her notebook, and her phone while she got the rest.

Quietly thanking him, she made her way to the door. When her hand was on the knob, Ranger stopped her. "Don't forget we have dinner tonight at your parents', Stephanie. I'll be up around 5:00."

Good, she thought. That gave her plenty of time to break in her new shower massager.

Maybe if she had an orgasm or three, she'd be less likely to strangle her new boyfriend.

…

If there's one thing Ranger had learned in his study of people over the years, it was that all families are complicated, and that every family had some level of dysfunction. No one was immune: there was a diseased branch somewhere on every family tree. Most families hid what was unsavory or embarrassing, or just ignored it all together, hoping, for the sake of maintaining peace and harmony, that it would somehow become tolerable, if not exactly normal.

Beneath the surface of their freshly painted houses, 2.5 kids, and smiling PTA president soccer moms, were secrets. Skeletons were buried under professionally landscaped lawns, and dysfunction was swept beneath great grandma's heirloom rug.

The Plums were different. What you saw was what you got. And while Helen may have wanted to deny it or apologize for it, to Ranger it seemed that when push came to shove, the Plum family tended to give the 'Burg a collective shrug and a middle finger, as if to say, _Meh, so we're a little fucked up. Get over it._

He had told Steph once that she came from a long line of scary women. Problem was, scary wasn't exactly a deterrent for him. Every Manoso male, going back as far as his family could trace, had married a strong-minded, difficult female. His father thought it might be something about the Manoso tendency of high testosterone and enjoying the perpetual chase of a complicated woman, never knowing what to expect, even after thirty-plus years of marriage. Ranger arrogantly theorized that only insecure, weak men chose docile, submissive partners. That, and feisty, obstinate women turned him on.

Luckily for Ranger and his virtue, Grandma had a date tonight. A sleepover date, Helen informed them while genuflecting.

Valerie and her husband, Albert, were in attendance, though it seemed Albert was in the doghouse. Valerie wasn't speaking to Kloughn, though she took great pains to make sure everyone knew she wasn't talking to him. _Angie, when your stepfather is done chewing with his mouth open, would you please ask him to pass the salt?_

Since Val and Albert were firmly ensconced in a lopsided cold war, and Mrs. Plum was focusing all of her attention on Stephanie, Mary Alice was free to be the horse of a different color. That is to say, she was leaning over her plain spaghetti and eating it without the benefit of her hands, as if it were soggy hay. She also occasionally issued equine snorts and chuffs if you happened to make eye contact with her.

Baby Lisa had somehow wound up between Ranger and Stephanie and was currently offering Ranger a Cheerio and a drooling smile.

"Would you like another cutlet, Ranger?" Helen had momentarily broken from her lecture to Stephanie, and was holding up a nearly empty platter of chicken Parmesan. "Don't be shy, I have more in the kitchen."

Ranger made a production of chewing his single Cheerio, following that with and exaggerated blot to his lips with his cloth napkin, much to Lisa's delight. "No thank you, Mrs. Plum." He smiled his most charming, maternally approved smile at Steph's mother. "Two's my limit. I _will_ take another serving of salad, though."

"You don't know how to eat," Steph muttered. Apparently she was speaking to him now. He'd had doubts on the ride over. Probably decided she needed an ally. Her eye had started twitching five minutes ago, coinciding with the beginning of Helen's latest diatribe.

Stephanie used to poke fun at his diet all the time before her head injury. She'd also said this exact phrase more than once _since_ her head injury. Sadly, he'd learned it didn't mean much, except that neither Original Steph nor Memory Zero Steph was impressed with his food pyramid. He supposed neither version gave much thought to how he managed to run five miles without getting winded, or exactly what went into making abdominal muscles look like they were carved from stone.

Chicken cutlets abandoned, Helen returned to the subject at hand. "As I was saying, Father Fazoli mentioned he hadn't seen you in church since last Christmas, Stephanie, not even for confession. Why don't you and Ranger meet us there this Sunday? You could come over here for lunch after."

Ranger cut his eyes to Steph in time to catch the smallest tremor beneath her left eye.

"Nah. I'm good," Steph told her. No whining about being nagged, no made-up excuses, and absolutely no apology.

Concentrating on piercing a piece of chicken with the tines of her already spaghetti-laden fork, Steph said, "I'm thinking maybe I don't want to be Catholic. I mean, the only reason I am Catholic is because _you're_ Catholic. And the only reason _you're_ Catholic is because your parents were."

Helen looked to be turning purple.

Loaded fork hovering in front of her mouth, Steph said, "You know, if Great-Great-Grandpa Plum-"

"Plumeri," Frank corrected.

"Right, Frank, sorry. If Great-Great Grandpa _Plumeri_ had been born in Afghanistan, I'd be Muslim."

Helen held her folded hands toward the ceiling, an apology to God, Ranger guessed.

Frank muttered, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," and crammed more food in his mouth.

Steph followed her father's example, started to chew, then held her hand in front of her mouth to say, "Just think, I would wear a burka!"

Val choked on her water. Angie stood to perform the Heimlich but was waved off by her grandmother.

Oblivious, Steph went on. "There are definite pros to a burka. Feeling bloated and poochy? Wear a burka. Bad hair day? Cover it with a burka."

Angie interjected with no small amount of reproach, "Burkas are often seen by Westerners as a symbol of female oppression and isolation, Aunt Steph."

"You don't _want _to be Catholic?_ You're good?" _Helen sputtered, having finally found her voice. "How can you possibly be _good_ when your soul is in jeopardy?"

Ranger wondered if there was a _Mothers and Catholic Guilt_ course offered at the local community college, and if Helen Plum and Angelina Manoso had been classmates.

Steph snorted into her wine glass. "And confession. What the heck would I confess? If I've been sinning, I can't even remember it, which sucks. I don't even know what all the _supposed_ sins are."

Helen glanced meaningfully at Ranger, then said to Steph, "Living with a man without benefit of marriage is a sin. And not a _supposed_ one. I've been lighting candles for the two of you. Daily."

Stephanie waved her napkin dismissively at her mother. "Pffft. He's being a gentleman. This living together thing is virtually platonic. I'm as safe as a nun in a gay bar."

That might be overstating it a bit, Ranger thought, as he moved Stephanie's wine glass out of her reach.

"Stephanie!" Val admonished, covering Angie's ears. Then she turned to poor Albert. "Cover her ears!" she said, exasperated, pointing to Mary Alice with her chin.

When Albert reached toward her head, Mary Alice ducked away with a whinny and an under-the-table hoof stomp. She said, "S'okay. I know what gay is. It's like if a stallion wanted to put his big thingy inside another stallion. Which would probably be painful, on account of-"

"Mary Alice, won't you help Grandma get desert?" Helen blurted. She looked like she needed a shot of vodka, badly.

Ranger flicked a glance down to Frank. No help there. Head down, he was busy swabbing his chicken in the sauce on his plate, shaking his head, and mumbling to himself.

Angie said to Steph, "Next week, we're starting our warm blooded animals unit in Science. I was thinking, if you didn't mind, maybe I could bring in Rex for show and tell? You get extra points if you tie in your show and tell with the current unit of study. That would make my new average 105 in Science," she added proudly.

Stephanie beamed at Angie. "Sure, kiddo. Just call me and we'll set up a drop-off time."

Val nodded her thanks to Steph.

"Honestly," Steph went on, "he's just stinking up Ranger's kitchen these days. I keep forgetting I have a pet. If you just want to keep Tex, you can."

Angie frowned. "His name is Rex."

Stephanie shrugged. "Rex, Tex, if you take him, you can name him whatever you want."

Angie looked excited. Val, not so much.

Catching Valerie's expression, Steph amended, "If it's okay with your mom."

Valerie said to Angie, "How about you be Rex's foster mother until your auntie Steph gets her memory back."

"_If_ I get my memory back," Steph corrected, successfully snagging Ranger's wine glass.

"Pumpkin." Frank admonished, paying attention after all.

Stephanie polished off the wine and offered her father an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Frank, but I've got be practical." She looked into the empty glass and sighed. "You know what they say, De_-Nial_ is not a river."

_Yes it is,_ Ranger wanted to argue. Denial was Stephanie's favorite river. Instead he just took the pilfered wineglass from her and pushed the nearly empty bottle down toward Frank.

Helen returned carrying a large glass trifle bowl, Mary Alice cantering behind, carrying desert plates.

The next five minutes were blessedly silent. The Plums took their desert seriously.

Steph was unapologetically holding her plate to her face, licking it clean, when Helen suddenly blurted, "What will you two do if you get pregnant?" She then pressed her fist to her mouth, as if she'd been holding the question inside all night and it had escaped without permission, like a burp.

"Mary Alice said, "She can't get pregnant on accounta Mr. Ranger's a gay stallion."

He knew she was only eight years old, but Ranger couldn't let that assumption slide. He had a reputation to uphold. "I'm _not_ a gay stallion, Mary Alice." He thought for a second, then added, "Not that there would be anything wrong with _being_ a gay stallion."

"Jesus Christ on a crutch," Frank muttered. "Pass me back the trifle, Kloughn."

"I have to agree with what Carlos said, Frank." Albert said, passing the half empty bowl back to Mr. Plum. "Why, even _I _thought about being homosexual once in law school. Probably it was because I couldn't get any lady action, if you know what I mean."

"Angie, when your stepfather is done _over sharing_, would you please tell him to put a sock in it?" Val intoned.

Stephanie's eye twitch had escalated to near blinking. "I'm getting my tubes tied," she announced to no one in general.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, you will do no such thing!" her mother decreed.

Steph stuck her tongue out at her mom, hidden by plate she was still licking. "I told you we're not having sex. We're not even dating."

"Yes we are," Ranger put in quietly.

Everyone at the table swung around to look at Ranger, including Stephanie.

She set her plate down carefully. "We are?"

Aside from the lack of actual dates, he thought it should be obvious. "We are," he told her.

Her forehead pleated. "Have we already been on a date? Cause, I gotta tell you, I would have dressed nicer for the gun range had I known it was a date, and I'd be shaving above the knee, for sure."

"Oh, for the love of Christ," Frank said, shoving a raspberry and chocolate covered ladyfinger in his mouth.

Ranger willed himself not to squirm under the ever-watchful scrutiny of the collective Plum clan. Well, Frank was actually busy verifying whether there were any ladyfingers left, but still. Ranger was an extremely private person, and when he contemplated how exactly he'd 'do things right' with Stephanie, this was not what he'd pictured.

"That wasn't a date," he told Stephanie.

Stephanie said nothing, just stared back at him patiently.

She didn't seriously expect him to ask her out on a date in front of her entire family, did she?

Her eyebrows went up in a way that sang _I'm waiting…_

"Tomorrow." He said. There. Done deal.

Steph frowned. "Tomorrow, what?"

"Dinner," he said, confused. He'd never actually had to ask a woman out before. He had no idea it was this difficult.

"We eat dinner together every night, Ranger, you have to be more specific."

Kloughn said to Frank, "I honestly thought he'd have more game than this."

Val said disgustedly, "What do you know about game? You've kissed me and farted at the same time."

Ranger looked over baby Lisa's head at Stephanie. Her face was innocently solemn. Too innocently solemn. And her eyes were virtually dancing. She was enjoying this.

"Dinner tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at five."

She looked around the table at each member of her family, as if to check and see if they were as perplexed as she was. Eyes back to Ranger, "We live in the same apartment. Why would you pick me up?"

Fuck. Was it warm in here?

Angling closer to Ranger, her arm on the back of Lisa's highchair, she asked, "Did you just _order_ me on a date in front of my entire family? A first date?"

"That was me _asking_."

Steph wriggled her pinky into her ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear the question mark." Un-Stephanie was clearly unafraid of toying with him.

Perhaps they should revisit the spanking discussion.

"It was implied," he told her.

Steph said nothing, but she leaned across the table and finger-scooped some chocolate pudding from the trifle bowl, sticking the digit in her mouth.

As he enjoyed watching her, envying her finger, Stephanie's mother asked, "Well?"

"Well what?" Stephanie said.

Val asked, breathless, "Are you going to say yes?"

Steph took another scoop from the bowl, a secret smile curving her lips. "I thought it was implied."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: There are seven chapters total in this story. That being said, this chapter and the final two are all on the long side and all average around 22 manuscript pages, so there is still plenty of story left. (Lol, I should add _if you like the story_. If you don't like the story, there's around 21,000 words of torture left for you to read through!) This story was about 80 percent finished (in rough draft form) when I started posting a month ago. And no, before anyone asks, I can't post chapters 6 and 7 yet because 6 still needs lots of tweaking and editing and 7- the final chapter- isn't quite finished! :p

I sincerely appreciate every single review I receive, and I do my best to thank each and every reviewer with a private message. If you had/have the private message feature turned 'off', I was/am unable to reply to your review and thank you personally, but know that I tried!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

The already frigid temperature seemed to have dropped exponentially since they'd arrived for dinner. The windows on Ranger's car were glazed in glittering frost, and between that natural insulation and the dashboard's blue illumination, the car's interior was cast in an otherworldly glow.

It had started sleeting while Ranger so suavely asked Stephanie for the pleasure of her accompaniment to dinner. They didn't linger after desert, wanting to get on the road before the streets iced.

After scraping his front windshield, they sat in the parked car outside the Plums' house, waiting for the other window defrosters and the heater to do their jobs.

Ranger looked over at Steph, her hands tucked between her thighs. "Babe."

Stephanie hunched toward the heaters. "I've been around you long enough now to know that tone. Was it the drinking? I only do it when I'm around Helen. _I need it._ Please don't take it away from me," she begged.

He grabbed her cold left hand giving it a kiss and folding it between his two warm ones. "It's not the drinking," he told her. "I would have joined you if I didn't have to drive. I was actually thinking about our discussion this afternoon."

"You mean our fight."

"Discussion," he reaffirmed. "I just wanted to say that I think I understand where you're coming from. It's about control."

She waggled her brows. "Do tell."

Ignoring her teasing, he said, "You feel like you have no control over this whole situation. By giving up on your memory returning, in deciding to start over, you feel like you're back in control."

"Huh. I thought we were fighting about sex."

He gave her a look.

She shrugged as she fiddled with the vent adjustments. "Okay, yeah, I guess. Close enough, anyway."

Then she leaned toward him as far as her seatbelt allowed, and placed her hand on his thigh. Very high on the inside of his thigh. Her thumb was moving back and forth a centimeter from his dick. She whispered, "Wanna go home and have sex with your new girlfriend?"

He grabbed her hand before his dick mutinied on him and dragged him into something Stephanie would later regret. "I want to talk about you not doing anything rash," he told her.

"You mean, like this?" she asked. Despite the seatbelt and his hold on her hands, she was able to lean in far enough to lay a tiny kiss on his neck, then a nip and a lick. She did this exactly where _his_ Stephanie knew he liked it. His new horny girlfriend had figured it out within 24 hours of their second first kiss.

His new girlfriend not only enjoyed blatant flirting, but she was not above sexual manipulation in both the overt and stealth varieties. She was one big pleasure junkie and she'd do anything to get her next hit.

He had to constantly remind himself why this was a problem.

Pulling back from her, he lifted their joined hands to her chin, tipping it up, forcing her to pay attention. "By rash, I mean I think that Stephanie Plum might be a little confused if she wakes up one day with her memory restored, and finds she's a sterile burka wearing Muslim woman in a hamster custody dispute against her niece."

She blinked at him. "Probably I won't get my tubes tied," she said. "That one was just for shock effect. Also, if you were paying attention, I didn't say I _wanted _to become Muslim, I said I _could_ have been Muslim."

"Noted."

"But for the record, if I were to choose a religion, it wouldn't involve self-flagellation or getting up early on Sundays."

"I think they pretty much did away with any flagellation last century, although your mother might do it in private. And Catholics have mass on Saturday evenings, for people just like you."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"Have we ever gone to mass together?"

"Babe, I think we barely go to mass at all. I think we're both Christmas and Easter Catholics."

"Our poor moms. They must light a lot of candles between them." She laughed a breathy little laugh. "We should do that for our second date. Go to mass together, just for shits and giggles."

"Probably we shouldn't do anything in a church _just for shits and giggles_."

"Is that a rule or something?"

"Or something," he told her, almost smiling.

All windows clear, he turned on the headlights and pulled away from the curb. They were silent for a time as Ranger carefully maneuvered the car on the unsalted surface streets of her parents' neighborhood.

"So if we ever got married, could we agree to be complete and total non-practicing Catholics?" Stephanie asked.

"I'm agreeing to nothing. I'm still reeling from the fact that you tried to give away your only child tonight."

"Huh. You didn't even flinch when I said the M word. Lula said you'd flinch."

"Lula's an ex-prostitute who manipulated her boyfriend into a fake engagement. Probably you shouldn't be getting relationship advice from her."

"Have we talked about marriage?"

Jesus Christ, she was relentless. He was starting to understand Frank's strategy to surviving in the Plum household. "Once, that I can remember."

She turned back in her seat and looked at the road. "If we've only talked about it once in three years, I'm guessing one of us was a big, fat _hell to the no_." Now she was talking like Lula.

"You asked me if I was the marrying type and I told you I wasn't exactly family material."

"Well, so you said no. I don't see a problem, as exhibited by my own single-at-thirty status and my callous hamster abandonment."

"I didn't say no."

Steph was silent for a beat. "What did you say?"

"I said not anytime soon, that at _that_ point in my life, I was still carrying two guns and a knife."

"Were you being literal or metaphorical?"

"You didn't ask me that then."

"I'm asking you now."

"What do you think?"

"I think I watched you get dressed for dinner and that you still wear two guns and a knife."

"Stephanie, if you want to ask me something, just come out and ask it."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Liar."

Stephanie made a production of digging through her purse, as if looking for something vitally important. "I don't know what you mean."

"I've made a study of watching you, Stephanie. Then and now. You have a million questions. Granted, you ask a lot more now than you did then, but you still won't ask anything really hard. You're pretending to look for something in your purse right now because you're uncomfortable and you want to change the subject."

From the corner of his eye he could see her pull something out of her bag and hold it up in the air towards him as some sort of proof—Chapstick? Lipstick?—then flip down her visor and apply it in the lighted mirror. After smacking her lips together she said, "Why don't you just tell me what you think I need to know, if you know so much about me?"

"When you're unwilling to ask a direct question, you're not really ready for a direct answer."

"That just sounds like something you pulled out of a fortune cookie."

Shades of an irritated, defensive Stephanie were shining through. When things got uncomfortable: Joke, change the subject, or eat junk food. New Stephanie's strategy was only slightly different: Joke, change the subject, or seduce boyfriend. Maybe the old Stephanie did that too, only the cop had been the beneficiary, not that Ranger really cared to think about it.

Both Stephanies were 100 percent behind the We Don't Like to Dwell on Difficult Things plan.

It was her Friends and Family plan.

He used to be on board with that plan when it came to Stephanie.

Steph shifted in her seat, looked at him. "I have a direct question I'm more than ready to ask."

"Ask."

"How is it you're so craptastically bad at asking women out on dates?"

"It wasn't that bad."

"Oh, don't kid yourself, Manoso, it was bad."

He flicked a glance over at her and saw that her eyes were dancing, teasing. "You said yes, didn't you?"

"Only because I felt sorry for you," she said on a smile.

"So my plan worked."

Stephanie started laughing as she spoke. "I wish you could have seen your face when Albert said he'd thought you'd have more game. You looked like one of those big fluffy cats they have on You Tube, where they just got wet somehow, or fell off something, or got a haircut, and they know they look ridiculous, but they try to play it all dignified, all ... "I'm cool man, _it's cool_, nothing to see here!" She snorted as she sucked in some breath. "If you had little black cat ears, I'd bet they'd be all backward and flat to your head right now and you'd have that little cat pout-" she snorted again, loudly, presumably at the image of a pissed off and humiliated Cat-Ranger slinking around.

He couldn't help but smile at her uncontained mirth, even if it was at his expense. "Laugh it up, Chuckles," he told her, which made her laugh even harder.

When she caught her breath again, and was wiping at her eyes, he admitted, "I've never had to ask a woman out before."

She had the visor down and was checking for mascara smears. "Oh, come on."

"Babe."

"You're serious?" She flipped the visor up. "Aw, shit. You're serious! You're telling me you never had to ask a woman on a date? They've always asked you?"

"Or there was no actual dating."

"How can there be no dating? You have a child."

"Dinner and a movie are not required for chromosomal intermingling, Steph."

"Okay, I get that, but I know your ex-wife can't have been the only other woman you've, uh…"

"No, of course she's not the only woman I've been with, Steph. She wasn't even my first."

"So how did you hook up with anyone else?"

They were at a stoplight now and he was able to give her The Look. It was a look that he'd perfected in his early twenties that showed how desirable he found the woman as he stripped her with his eyes, spelling out exactly what he'd like to do to her when he got her alone and undressed. It had served him very well for years.

Steph threw her hands in front of her face as if shielding her eyes from the sun. "Okay, I got it, knock that shit off. It's false advertising anyway, since you're not putting out."

After fanning herself, she shook her head and said, "I don't know why I'm surprised. I mean, you're beautiful, a perfect specimen, really. But no woman ever actually made you … you know, work for it?"

He smiled softly as the light turned green. "Only you."

…

Their proper first date didn't happen for almost two more weeks, and it wasn't for lack of trying on Ranger's part. The night of their first intended date, Ranger got arrested. Not a real arrest, mind you. He had been a part of some super-stealthy undercover operation in conjunction with both the DEA and the Trenton PD. Lester told her she couldn't know any details since she was on _double secret probation_, whatever that meant. Anyway, the sting went down two days ahead of schedule, triggering Ranger's faux arrest. Ranger still wasn't convinced Joe didn't know about their uber-romantic dinner plans and changed the takedown timeline just to fuck with Ranger.

From then on, it seemed like the fates were against them. Ever the military strategist, Ranger did his level best to improvise, adapt, and overcome. Zero was shot on an apprehension two days after the Sting Debacle. Ranger and Steph spent the first few hours of their would-be date as the best-dressed couple in Trenton Memorial's surgical waiting area, thus losing their chi-chi New York City restaurant reservation.

So what did Ranger do? He rang up Ella and had her bring a boxed supper, which they ate by lantern light at a picnic table on the hospital grounds in the gardens. It was actually quite lovely if you could discount the number of pages and texts he received for medical status updates, and the fact that the twenty-seven degree temperature made Steph's eyes water and nose run despite the rigged up outdoor space heater he'd arranged and the hand stitched lap blankets Ella provided.

They made it all the way to the chi-chi New York City restaurant on their third attempt. They were freshly seated at the best table in the house and looking over their menus when Steph spotted one of Ranger's skips bussing tables. She'd recognized him from his picture on the file always on Ranger's desk; she knew he'd been after him for some time.

She kicked Ranger's shin underneath the floor-length tablecloth, probably a little too hard.

Ranger's dark eyes flicked up from reading the menu, and a single brow arched. She'd learned this combination meant, "What the fuck, Babe?"

She did a little chin pointing while trying to act natural.

He lowered his menu slightly and narrowed his eyes. "Are you having a seizure or are you trying to tell me something?"

She kicked him again for being an ass. Leaning in, she whispered, "You're going to feel bad one day when I'm actually having a seizure, Mr. Funny Pants. Busboy! Three o'clock!"

"Whose three?"

"What?"

"We're facing each other. Your three or my three?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she hissed, "over by that fern on steroids!"

Ranger seemed amused by her temper and their banter until he caught sight of Oliver Delgado. Then Ranger's badass bounty hunter face made an appearance and his posture went predatory.

Oliver Delgado had been arrested on weapons and assault charges, but he was also being investigated for his possible involvement in a string of masked, home invasion style rapes, all within a one-mile radius of his childhood home, all involving women he'd had some contact with in the last five years. And yes, when he wasn't on the lamb, he still lived with mama.

Stephanie wondered why Ranger wasn't already halfway across the room. This guy was not only a morally bankrupt, spineless scumbag, he was worth big bucks to Rangeman. For a blank-faced man, Stephanie thought her boyfriend looked pretty tense … and torn.

"Aren't you going to nab him?" she whisper-squeaked, her voice an octave higher than she intended.

"We're on a date," he said, returning to his menu perusal.

"So?" It was all she could do not to wiggle in her seat. So she wiggled just a little. You have to let it out sometimes.

His eyes flicked up at the motion. "Babe."

"Seriously, does Ranger Manoso let a nasty skip get away because it's date night with the little woman? Won't that like, ruin your street tread, or something?"

"It's street _cred, _Babe."

"Yeah, that," she said. Ranger was fully studying his menu, but she knew it was killing him not to act.

"I don't mind," she assured him. She knew he was trying to show her how important this night was. How important _she _was. Thing was, he already had. He'd let his _lover of sorts_ move in and take over his life, and now he was willing to let that slimeball Delgado get away, just so as not to ruin their date? Put that way, she suddenly felt all melty and squishy and all those other fuzzy girl words she wasn't sure she felt comfortable admitting.

It was obvious to her there'd been an almost instantaneous shift in his bearing when he saw Delgado, a vibration of anticipation, a surge of adrenalin. Ranger lived for this shit, she could see it. He reminded her of Joe's dog, Bob, barely restrained by his collar, wriggling with the anticipation of being released.

Well, except Ranger didn't visibly wriggle. From what Steph could tell, Ranger didn't do anything undignified. He also didn't slobber on his victims after he pinned them to the ground. Nor did he wag his tail, which was a pity.

"Do you have a copy of his papers in your car?" she asked.

Ranger's eyes tracked Delgado from one table to the next. "Of course."

"Then…?"

"Even if you don't mind my ruining our date, I don't want to make a scene; and God knows if he has weapons on him." Oh. He didn't want to put the other diners at risk.

Stephanie closed her menu and waved off the approaching waiter. "Would he recognize me?"

Ranger frowned. "No. Your paths have never crossed."

"How about if I wait for him to head back to the kitchen. I'll … I don't know, stall him in the back hall-"

"You mean distract him," Ranger smiled at the idea, but as usual, when he was reminded specifically of the old Stephanie—and she knew enough to know the word _distraction_ would remind him of the old Stephanie—the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. His eyes went a bit sad.

Steph nodded, agreeing with his words, her pulse racing in her throat hoping he might consider letting her do it. She wanted to start doing the things Stephanie used to do, even if she didn't remember doing them. She wanted her life back, certain parts, anyway.

Working in the field with Ranger—the trust and teamwork involved being partners—was a different kind of intimacy she wanted to reclaim. And maybe if she started acting like Stephanie, Ranger would start seeing her as Stephanie, and not as some wacky, outspoken and amusing person who looked and sounded like Stephanie, but didn't quite compare.

Ranger laid his menu on the table. Leaning forward, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. He murmured against her skin, "Do you have your gun?"

She nodded.

He looked surprised. "On you?"

She shook her head. She didn't keep it on her body because Ranger hadn't let her do any fieldwork since her head injury. He'd assured her it was a contract thing, not a boyfriend thing. Steph wasn't sure the two things were mutually exclusive; she'd yet to see the _guys'_ contracts.

Ranger did sigh then. A for real one. But he didn't look surprised. At all.

A few minutes and some super-stealthy gun tucking later, Steph was conducting a seemingly very important phone call in the hall that led to the kitchen. A youngish waiter approached her and politely asked her to move. She licked her lips and gave him a heavy lidded head-to-toe perusal, pausing where his package must be. "I'll just be a minute," she told the waiter's groin, her voice all low and breathy. "This is the only spot I can get reception." She traced a finger along the deeply cut V of her neckline as she spoke, amused to see his eyes following along.

In her ear Ranger said, "Why don't you ever use that voice with me, Babe?" He was listening through his Bluetooth earpiece. It was the best audio monitoring system he could come up with on short notice.

She laughed a naughty little laugh. "Where would you like me to use it?" She winked at the waiter as he headed into the kitchen and he nearly ran into the wall.

"Are you flirting with me, Steph?"

Before she could come up with a witty reply, Ranger said, "Okay, he looks like he's loading his last table. We have maybe a minute. I'm going to go silent while I get into position." He paused before saying, "Please be careful, Steph." And that was the last she heard from him.

Stephanie had been told about the few distractions she'd done for Ranger. On one, she'd gotten completely plowed on a single Bombay Sapphire, but distracted her mark long enough for Ranger to do what he needed to do, which was repossess a Jaguar. That may have been the infamous group sex night, but she had a hard time keeping the stories straight.

In other instances, the distractions somewhat resembled sleight of hand with a side of a Wonderbra. Ranger told her she'd planted a bug for him while distracting a mark with her Wonderbra assisted assets in a Starbucks. Lula said Steph planted a few bugs for Ranger in Dickey's office. Lula also said Steph got a little violent on that assignment, but that it was understandable, on account of Joyce Barnhardt's name being invoked.

Like waving a red cape at a bull, Lula said.

Stephanie paced back and forth, trying to come up with a halfway believable line to distract this felonious sociopathic pig, coming up with nothing but sexy one-liners she was saving for Ranger. She couldn't besmirch her good words with this creep, and she was hopeful that Ranger was getting close to snapping.

It didn't matter in the end. Delgado rounded the corner at a breakneck pace, plowing into Stephanie. His full plastic tub slipped sideways between them sending plates, cutlery, glasses and bits of food flying. Delgado slipped on something, grabbed wildly for Steph, both of them going ass over teakettle in an unsightly heap just a few feet from the swinging kitchen doors.

So much for not making a scene.

Stephanie was stunned more than anything, and grateful that in their fall, she was able to swivel on her four-inch heels, spin both of them around, landing Stephanie on top.

It would figure she finally got a man between her legs and it was some serial rapist mama's boy she'd like to castrate with a rusty spoon.

The kitchen doors swung open at the sound of crashing dishes in the hall. Three uniformed kitchen staff gaped down at them, then toward the entrance to the hall, at Ranger. She glanced over her shoulder quickly. Ranger looked both feral and incredibly sexy in his crisp, expensive suit, feet braced apart, his gun steadily aimed at the man beneath her.

Delgado initially tried to unseat her, but Steph kept him pinned easily. For one, the piece of shit was probably only 145 pounds soaking wet. The other thing might have been that Steph was currently leaning over his face, hands on his shoulders, attempting to work up enough saliva to spit on him.

From close behind she heard a low, "Bond enforcement." The people from the kitchen appeared to be squinting toward Ranger's midsection; he'd probably just pulled out one of his many IDs. She couldn't turn around to look now; she almost had enough spit.

Ranger said, "Go." It was such an authoritatively delivered order, for a second she thought he meant her.

The kitchen doors swung closed again and then Delgado got very still, no longer so concerned about Steph. She could feel Ranger standing right over them, the fine hairs on her neck prickling. She guessed he had his gun trained in the vicinity of Delgado's head.

"Babe, are you trying to spit on him?"

Dammit. She couldn't answer with a mouth full of saliva. So she swallowed. "I saw Mary Lou's oldest boy use it on the youngest," she told him. "I was adapting. Improvising. Overcoming."

Ranger grinned a full grin.

Her heart fluttered.

Delgado shuddered. "That's just nasty."

Less than a minute later, Delgado was in handcuffs, and Ranger frog-marched his scrawny ass through the kitchen. While there, Ranger placed a simple to-go order with the chef, then waited for Steph to manage the valet and pull the car around the back of the restaurant.

Stephanie thought it was the Best. Date. Ever.

She also thought she should probably come up with some sexier apprehension techniques if she was going to keep working with Ranger.

…

"Babe, what are you doing?"

Stephanie closed the glass door behind her and offered Ranger her most innocent eyes. "Taking a shower, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"_I'm_ taking a shower."

"Yeah, well, don't hog the soap." Steph pressed up against Ranger's back and liberated the Bulgari bottle from his grip.

"Steph." Ranger waited for her to give him her full attention. They were both busy observing the washing of her breasts. After cleaning both of the girls thoroughly—twice—Stephanie looked up at him.

Voice gruff, Ranger said, "Not saying I'm not enjoying the view, but from what I understand, it's not traditional practice to shower with a person an hour before your first date with them."

She took another dollop of Bulgari and slowly lathered her abdomen, sweeping lower and lower with each pass until she was certain he'd noticed her new Brazilian wax. According to his penile indicator, he seemed to really like it.

"It's our second date. Maybe even our third. And doesn't it all depend on how well the first date went?" she asked.

Ranger didn't smile, but when he looked back up at her face, his now darker eyes crinkled a smidge in the corners. No matter how much she tried, Ranger still wasn't convinced that the hospital picnic or the Delgado takedown counted as dates.

They counted to her.

And not just in a _going towards getting to the sex way_, either.

"Maybe; I told you I never dated traditionally," he said distractedly, grabbing up the body wash again. She could have sworn he'd been nearly finished with his shower when she finally mustered the courage to join him. That's actually the reason she _did_ muster the courage. She knew he was nearly done and that nothing would really happen.

"You had to have been beating women off with a stick most of your adult life," she teased. Seriously, she was afraid sometimes Ranger would be forced to beat _her_ off with a stick.

"Not really. I was a scrawny no-good juvenile delinquent in high school," he told her, turning her around, soaping up her back. She nearly purred. "I did do some time at Rutgers, but proper dating wasn't on my things-to-do list."

He was a virile guy; she could only imagine what _was_ on his things-to-do list. Then she felt a stab of jealousy at the possible bevy of coeds he _did_ do. Sigh.

"But it's on your list _now_," she managed, shivering as his fingers coasted down and over her hipbones, his mouth hot on her neck.

"Among other things," he told her. Jesus, he was hard. Everywhere. His hands seemed to know exactly where to touch her, and how.

Making it entirely his fault that she arched her back, grinding her bottom into the place he was hardest.

She held him to her, hands on his thighs, head lolling back to his shoulder. His mouth found hers just as his fingers parted her. And then she was consumed by his kiss, by the feel of his body pressed against hers, his calloused fingers gliding over her slick folds. Where he touched, the pressure he used, his pace all told her he'd spent hours and hours learning her body. She ached to have those hours back, to remember learning her lover's body at the same time he learned hers.

She wished she could see his face.

Hand now braced against the wall above her, Ranger eased a single finger inside of her, pulled back, swirling it over her clit. He did the same thing over and over again, adding fingers, every now and then painting the lips of her sex with her own juices, letting her know exactly how aroused she was. He rasped into her ear. "Let go, Stephanie. You're so tight on my fingers, so wet. Let go and come for me."

She had a sliver of a moment to be amazed at how quickly he'd pushed her to the edge, and then she was falling over, an explosion of sparking sensation wracking her body.

He held her there for endless minutes, bringing her down, stroking her skin, mouth pressed against her neck. With a nod she assured him she could stand unassisted. Ranger kissed her shoulder, a benediction to her skin. To her confusion, he stepped out of the stall, his needs unmet, and left her to finish her shower alone.

Stepping back under the spray, Stephanie managed to scrape together two coherent, terrifying thoughts.

That man could easily own her body.

He might already own her heart.

…

On the outer edges of New Hope was a charming tucked-in-the-woods bed and breakfast, the terrace level of which was a small, little known restaurant. Towering snow-flocked Norway Spruces encircled the inn and the hedges and shrubs that flanked the building were heavily draped in twinkling white fairy lights. From their position in the lower level dining room, seated near the window, there was an impression that they were in the center of a snow globe, in an enchanted wonderland scene.

Ranger had arranged to have exclusive use of the B&Bs terrace level restaurant and while they weren't planning to stay the night, he also paid to have all the rooms reserved so there'd be no surprise guests. Rangeman provided for The Darlington's security, and the proprietor mostly utilized the restaurant space for private functions and guest breakfasts, so reserving that for the evening hadn't been a big deal.

He figured the odds of running into a skip here were null.

Dinner was fantastic; his date, sexy, amusing, surprising and titillating; the ambiance, whimsical, romantic, private. Everything he could hope for. Their first date had gone well.

Perhaps too well.

When the mostly invisible proprietor brought dessert, she informed him that the winter storm predicted for early the next afternoon had arrived far ahead of schedule. The only road going into or out of the inn was already closed due to bridge icing.

The innkeeper had insisted on them staying in the best room, the honeymoon suite she called it. She'd laid a fire in the hearth. Set a champagne bucket on the side of the bed. There were rose petals strewn across the faded antique coverlet, for Christ's sake. She said she had them on hand since Valentine's Day was almost upon them.

Lucky him.

"Ranger, you can stand at that window all you like, but glaring at the snow isn't going to make it go away."

He looked over at Steph, letting the curtain fall closed. She was reclined on the ornately carved four post rice bed, lying on her side, head propped on her hand. Her hair looked amazing tonight, shiny chocolate curls falling in large, loose ringlets. Because of how she was lying, the skirt of her clingy steel gray wrap dress gaped open slightly, offering a mouthwatering glimpse of her pale silky thighs, clad in shimmering charcoal colored hold-ups. It appeared the sheer panties underneath were midnight blue.

Even just looking at her lying on the bed made him hard. _Get a grip, man. You've shared a bed with this woman for over a month, and many, many times before that_, he told himself. What was there to be afraid of now?

"C'mere," she said, patting the bed.

He felt a sense of déjà vu, only their roles were reversed.

He felt like a virgin sacrifice.

He had too much blood rushing to the wrong head.

He told himself to hold steady and stand his ground even as he was kicking off his shoes and climbing up beside her. _You're weak_, _soldier, _he told himself. _What the fuck kind of resistance was that?_

Lying on his back, pretending a calm he didn't feel, he stacked his hands behind his neck and stared up at the ceiling. Huh. You can make a chandelier out of a wagon wheel. Interesting.

Stephanie scooted closer and insinuated her stocking-clad foot between his calves. "I enjoyed dinner," she said, kissing his cheek. "Just so you know, I don't expect you to put out, even though this is our third date." She brought her foot up higher on his calf, causing her knee to brush across his groin.

She kissed his neck.

Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck. Flicking his eyes to the right, he noticed a somewhat rusted hoe had been artfully affixed to the wall. Next to that was an antique dress and pinafore ensemble hanging from a wooden peg. Apparently Laura Ingles Wilder left some things behind.

What the fuck kind of honeymoon suite was this? And why wasn't the sight of a chamber pot full of dried flowers making his hard-on go away?

He jerked away slightly—more annoyed with himself than anything—signaling the end of play for Stephanie.

Her eyebrows high, she propped her head on her hand, resuming her former pose. "A few weeks ago you said if I had a question, I should just ask."

He did? What the hell had he been thinking?

"You keep alluding to reasons why we can't have sex, but you never specify what those reasons are. It's like you think I should know, that it should be obvious, but it's not obvious to me."

Angling his head towards her, his eyes snagged on the gaping top part of her wrap dress. God help him. Her sheer bra matched her sheer panties.

"Ranger."

"What?"

"Eyes up here. The reasons?"

"You're not yourself," he blurted. And neither was he, he wanted to add. "You can't fully consent if you're impaired."

"I may remain _impaired_ for the rest of my life. Are we just going to live like brother and sister forever?"

"I can assure you, I don't think of you like a sister."

"You don't think of me like a lover either." He looked at her then, really looked at her. Something was different in her face, and now that he thought about it, it had been there part of the evening too, even as she'd been flirting with him. She might have seemed a little off yesterday as well. She'd seemed … not quite sad. Thoughtful maybe? Slightly distracted?

"I do see you as a lover," he assured her, sliding closer, pulling her into to his body from hips to chest. Slipping her hair over her shoulder, he kissed her neck, her collarbone, sweeping his hand down her spine to rest on her ass. "I do," he repeated, giving the apple of her voluptuous bottom a possessive squeeze.

"No, you don't. You think of me as someone who _looks_ like your lover, and sounds like your lover. But when you look at me, I can tell by your face, you wish I was her. That I'm not her."

"No-"

"Yes. And that's why you won't have sex with me. You're waiting for her to come back."

He looked into those blue eyes that were still arresting, but missing the three years they shared together. _The knowing_. He wanted to argue her point, but couldn't. She wasn't completely right, he didn't think, but she wasn't completely wrong either. She'd apparently seen something in his face he hadn't realized he felt until now. He couldn't merge the Stephanie he'd lost with the Stephanie he'd found. He somehow loved them both—how could he not love this vivacious, assertive, yet adorable version of Steph— but couldn't reconcile the two different yet similar people in his mind.

And he desperately missed the sarcastic, sometimes bumbling, somewhat insecure, gorgeously imperfect woman he fell in love with; the only woman he'd ever met who didn't have the time or inclination to fall at his feet.

Elements of dishonor for taking advantage of Steph's situation mingled with bizarre pangs of guilt for cheating on a woman who wasn't there, whom he'd made no formal commitment to, a person who wasn't available to consent to any of it.

How the fuck did he think this was ever going to work?

Stephanie said, "You loved her very much."

He filched one of those luscious curls off her shoulder and pretended a sudden fascination with it. The discomfort of this conversation was acute, a palpable thing lodged in the vicinity of his chest, reminding him of why he'd avoided entanglements in the past.

But no more.

"Love her," he corrected, changing the tense of the verb as he looked back at her. "I _love_ her very much, and she's the same person as you."

Her eyes guarded now, she pulled her head back slightly, tugging the curl from his grasp. "I think this would be a lot easier if you actually believed that."

"I do believe it."

"You _want_ to believe it. There's a difference."

"Steph-"

"No. I've given it some thought and I'm not going to do this to myself." She rolled away, sitting up at the edge of the bed and straightening her dress, her back to him.

Now he was confused. "Not going to do what to yourself?"

"I don't know how it happened."

"How _what_ happened?" Lost. He was utterly lost.

She heaved a sigh, still not looking at him. "I think I have very strong feelings for you. I think you like me a lot. You might even sort of love me in some way. But I'm pretty sure you're always going to love her more."

Rubbing her face she said, "If I'm honest, I have to admit I'm starting to hate the me that you loved, the one you won't give up on. I think she's taken the best part of you, and there's really nothing much left for me."

He reached across the bed and ran his knuckle up and down the lowest part of her spine. "I love you, Steph. Both of you. All of you. Always have, always will."

She took a very deep breath and stood from the bed, walking toward the fireplace. An ominous sensation of foreboding came over him, somehow he knew he wasn't going to like where this conversation was going.

Stephanie grabbed a fireplace poker from the stand on the hearth and jabbed aimlessly at the crackling logs. Pretending great concentration on her work, she asked, "Will you still love _all of me_ if I make some changes?"

He felt an unsettling stab of fear, the tiniest splinters of ice wending through his veins. "What changes," was all he could manage.

"I think I should move out of your apartment."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **One chapter left after this one. As Tank would say, "Keep the faith." ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Ranger didn't so much as twitch when she'd uttered those words, but any trace of emotion that had been there before seemingly left his face. His eyes, however, appeared to have darkened and they pinned her where she stood. "What did you say?"

Jesus. He hadn't raised his voice; in fact, he'd lowered it, but his tone was just a notch below what one would expect had she told him she'd been sleeping with his best friend or his brother. Willing her heart to slow down, knowing he didn't realize how harsh he sounded, that he was just taken aback, she repeated, "I think I should move out."

"Why." Not a question. A demand.

She felt the inexplicable need to fidget, to change the subject, to crack a joke. God this was uncomfortable. Maybe this was why Stephanie and Ranger never talked about things.

It was fucking brutal.

And they'd hardly started!

She couldn't look him in the eyes anymore. His face might be blank but his complete and total emotional shut down told her he was angry with her and hurt, like she'd somehow betrayed him, them.

He stood from the bed and slowly made his way over to her, his eyes watchful, commanding her to stay right where she was. And she thought she had, except now she felt the cool plaster of the wall against her back as Ranger stopped mere inches in front of her, his hands on either side of her shoulders, caging her in.

She didn't think for one second it was sexual. No, this was pure machismo; an alpha male's favored method of reasoning. He didn't like what she said, wasn't going to have any of it, and this was the only way he knew to respond.

And God help her, as politically incorrect as it was to admit, she liked the way it made her feel. Not the bullying part. The _reason_ he was bullying. He didn't want her to move out. In a way it almost made her feel cherished. Maybe even loved.

Sadly, this was the first time he'd made an overt, non-sexual action that made her feel remotely as loved as she thought his Stephanie was.

It was just his panic. His fear of losing the only source of daily contact he had to old Stephanie. It wasn't real, and it wasn't about her.

She imagined that if the other Stephanie ever saw fear in this man's eyes, it was a fear of losing her, or of having nearly lost her. Un-Stephanie got the painful opposite: Ranger's fear of never getting that other Stephanie back, of being stuck with a poor substitute.

And this was what she'd been avoiding thinking about for the last few weeks. The last few days she thought about little else. That moments like this would only serve to remind her of what _she_ lost. She didn't remember the old her, but seeing the subtle hints that Ranger missed that woman, that he didn't see _her_ as that woman, and regretted what _he_ lost, only emphasized what she'd been ignoring up until now.

Any residual pangs of anxiety she'd felt after Ranger had returned, she'd chalked up to being normal for an amnesia victim and maybe some of it was. Now she had to admit that for the last few weeks, some of her anxiety was due to a new vulnerability she felt with Ranger.

When he first came home, she pretty much assumed he was a done deal, her guy, and she just thanked her lucky stars that he was not only good looking and successful, but that she was actually attracted to him.

At some point, probably after he'd first kissed her, seeing the small flashes of sadness in his eyes for the other Stephanie stopped being endearing. God forgive her, one of the very things that made her love him—his seeming unflagging devotion to her old self—was the very thing that was breaking her heart.

He was a one-woman kind of guy when it came to giving his heart. It was a bitter pill to swallow knowing she might never be that woman again.

She hated knowing that while she'd been blithely attempting to carve out whatever new life suited her fancy, he'd been hurting all along, watching every last piece of the Stephanie he fell in love with disappear.

She hated that she'd unintentionally hurt him, that she was obviously hurting him right now, but it was time to admit to herself, and to him, that she was hurting too.

She looked up at the beautiful stone-faced man towering over her, his jaw hard, mouth in a tight line. "I … I thought living with you was only temporary," she managed.

"Why."

"Why did I think it was only temporary? I didn't live with you before-"

"No." He seemed to be short on words. And patience.

"Why am I moving out, you mean?"

"Yes."

She shrugged. "This isn't working, Ranger."

Both eyebrows ticked up. She assumed that was his not so charming way of telling her to explain herself. Fine.

"I've had weeks and weeks of time to accept the idea of you and that I was an important part of your life, that I was welcome to live with you. And then I met you and I had more weeks to get to know you, and kiss you, and sleep next to you, wake up being held by you, and … start to feel things for you. Big feelings. Like you're the only person I feel this way about feelings."

He made a face like she was speaking Swahili in Mandarin. "And your response to these _big feelings_ is to break things off with me?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said I was breaking things off with you?"

"You're talking about moving out." He laughed humorlessly. "Running away. The more things change, the more they stay the same."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? "I'm not running away, Ranger, I'm going home. I didn't live with you before I lost my memory."

"You would be living with me eventually."

"Did I know that before?"

A muscle in his jaw bunched and he looked off to the side. She grabbed his chin and forced him look at her while she asked him again. "Did I know that before?"

His eyes speared into hers, flashing. "I might have put off mentioning it seeing as you were sleeping with the cop."

Unbelievable. The first time he speaks to her as if she's _his_ Stephanie—the one responsible for Stephanie's past actions—and she lucks out and gets the barely controlled, pissed off Cuban? She didn't like his tone _at all, _or the direction the conversation was taking.

She shoved at his chest and he moved back a few inches, not—she suspected—because she was any kind of physical match in strength against him, but because he let her.

She paced, enjoying the heady rush of getting her mad on. "Wow. Here I am, just trying to give us a little space to figure things out, and out of nowhere, _boom_!" she smacked the back of one hand into the palm of the other. "This epiphany."

She turned to see him watching her, a wary adversary, chin angled down, hands on his hips, clearly doing everything he could to suppress a temper she'd never seen. She knew she'd probably pushed as far as she should, but she couldn't hold back one last thought. "You loved her _and_ you resented her. You resented her for staying with the cop. For always getting back together with him. Even though she knew you wanted her. That's it, isn't it? She's not so perfect after all."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Exactly! And I probably never will!"

She strode back over to him to jab at his chest as she spoke. "She's,"_ poke! _"Not,"_ poke!_ "Here,"_ poke! _"You're stuck with _me!_"

He didn't respond to her words or her physicality and it made her want to scream.

It was then she realized she was actually yelling inside a quaint little bed and breakfast. Sole guests or no, it was over-the-line behavior, even if your boyfriend was an arrogant, mule-headed autocrat.

Grabbing her purse, she stepped back into her heels and made her way to the door.

"Where are you going?"

Hand on the knob, she turned back to Ranger. He hadn't moved, but his glittering eyes had tracked her to the door and were burning her where she stood.

"To find another room," she told him.

"Why."

"Are you enjoying this? Do you think this is going well? Is this how you pictured our third date?"

A flash of something showed in his face then. Guilt? Shame? "First date," he quietly corrected her.

"Does that make it any better, Ranger?"

He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, a growling sound of frustration emanating from his throat. He muttered, "S_till_ drives me crazy," and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

It was impossible to explain the bittersweet feelings that came over her when she witnessed him mourn her, albeit badly. It both broke and softened her heart.

Stepping from the door, she squatted in front of him, rubbing her hands up and down his thighs. "All I was trying to say—before—is that I think we both need a little space. I have no memory of you, or us, to mourn, and I had weeks to get used to the idea of you. I knew what to expect. But you … I just got sprung on you the same day you lost _her_. You need time and space to deal with that."

He dropped his hands and said, "I'm dealing with it."

"No you're not, Ranger. For all intents and purposes, the love of your life died and you're not accepting it. You're denying it, and for the last month you've been trying to suck it up and play house with her twin sister. It's not making you happy and I can assure you it's destined to make me miserable. This is not even close to working."

He didn't say anything, just looked down at where she'd rested her hands on his knees.

"Ranger … did you ever hurt Stephanie?"

He cut his eyes up to hers, offended. "Of course not."

"Not physically. Emotionally."

His gaze shifted down again. "I don't know."

"Have you ever intentionally gone out of your way to hurt her?"

He shook his head slowly, looking only at her hands. "I _loved_ her." Realizing what he just said, he amended, "You."

She slid her hand to lay atop his, where it rested near his knee. "Living with you and seeing you wish that I was her _every single day_ is hurting me, Ranger."

Stephanie lifted his hand and laid it against the center of her chest. "It hurts here," she told him. "A lot. And I don't want to break things off with you, I don't. I'm _not_ breaking things off with you. I just can't live with you. Not right now. Not the way things are. I can't watch you mourn the person I might never be."

…

Stephanie woke when Ranger cut off the engine. She looked around saw that they were parked in front of her apartment building. Half of the parking lot had been cleared of last night's heavy snowfall, and the super, Dillon she thought his name was, was huffing away, clearing the other half.

They sat there in the silence, neither willing to take the next step. Studying Ranger's profile, she thought he looked stoic and resigned; a soldier following orders he didn't agree with.

He didn't want this; he wanted her to stay, not that he'd articulated as much. But it was clear he wanted to hurt her even less, so he'd conceded the fight.

He took a deep breath and got out of the car, Stephanie following his lead. Just as she was about to pass him walking toward the building, he snagged her by the fabric of her coat, spun her, and pulled her back to him, kissing the bejeezus out of her.

She may have whimpered.

When the kiss softened, eased, she pulled back slightly and panted against his mouth, "What was that?"

"This is the first place I kissed you. And I didn't kiss you just now so that you'd remember. I kissed you right now because I always want to kiss you. That hasn't changed."

"But a lot of things have," she challenged.

"The most important things haven't."

"Such as?"

"You still turn me on. Dressed like a femme fatale, or in your morning stupor, you're still the sexiest woman I've ever seen. You continue to call me on all my shit. You remain one of the only people who can make me laugh. You're still one of the only people who can really piss me off. I _still_ can't predict your behavior or what you'll say next. You still make me feel like some kind of superhero and at the same time make me wish I were a better person. I still can't control you and I hope to God that never changes. You still drive me crazy."

That was probably the sweetest thing a person had ever said to her. Granted, she had less than three months of sweet things to compare it to, but still.

She looked around the parking lot, then up at where she knew her apartment to be. "Why did you kiss me here? Then … the first time, I mean."

"You'd just handed me the license plate to my newly stolen BMW. This was right after the Porsche I'd given you got sideswiped, somehow burst into flames and was flattened by a garbage truck."

She checked his face to see if he was joking. He wasn't. "And you kissed me. I'd think most men would furious, or would have run far, far away from me."

"I'm not most men," he told her. And she knew they were talking about bigger things than a kiss and a car.

She felt a lick of panic. Like maybe she was doing the wrong thing by moving out. She heard herself blurt, "Please don't give up on me." She wasn't sure which _me_ she was talking about but she knew for certain she'd die if either of her lost him for good.

He pulled her into his chest, kissed the top of her head. "As long as you don't give up on _me_, we'll be okay," he whispered back.

…

Somehow, that moment in the parking lot shifted things. Made them easier. Less scary. Deep down, they both knew her moving out was the right thing. They both knew without having to say the words that they'd do whatever it took to figure out how to make things work. Make _them_ work.

After checking out her apartment, Ranger left for Haywood to grab some of her clothes and cosmetics. She told him not to pack everything, that she still considered him her boyfriend and she thought it gave her some rights to have a few things in his closet.

Steph had made her way around the apartment, trying to familiarize herself with it. She'd also started a short list of things she'd need to pick up from the store the next day. Her current task was secondary to the making of the grocery list. Apparently refrigerator inventory sometimes leads to obligatory cleaning. At least it does when you discover an unintended science project growing in your vegetable bin.

She heard her apartment door open and close. "In the kitchen!" she called out.

Ranger stood in the opening between the dining area and the kitchen, hands braced on the ceiling drywall divider over his head, his eyes fastened on her ass. The top she'd put on had pulled up and the jeans she'd changed into had ridden indecently low. She could feel a breeze.

"I don't think I've ever seen you do anything this domestic before," he said conversationally.

"You're still not seeing me do anything domestic. You're looking at the crack of my ass, Manoso."

He shrugged, unapologetic. "Better view than the liquid salad you got going on in the crisper." He stepped over and looked down at the mess. "I should have had Ella come over and clean out your fridge."

Stephanie slogged another dirty paper towel into the trash, then hauled out the whole drawer. Turning on the hot water, she lowered the drawer into the sink, adding a healthy squirt of soap.

"Ella's done enough for me. Too much. _You've_ done too much for me." She felt herself getting stupidly misty just thinking about it. Even if he'd been taking care of her out of love for the other Stephanie, he was still a really good man, the best, and he'd done everything he could to make her feel cared for and safe.

She knew there were non-amnesia suffering women who weren't cared for half as well as she was. And given what she was learning about their relationship in the past, she wasn't entirely sure she deserved it.

He must have noticed something about her silence because the next thing she knew, he was wrapping his arms around her waist, hugging her back into his chest. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she sniffed back.

"Are you crying?"

She grabbed her sponge, tried to ignore the fact it smelled sour, and started washing the drawer. "No," was all she said, hoping her maniacal scrubbing camouflaged the wobble in her voice.

"Babe."

She flipped the drawer over, scrubbing the underside this time. "What?"

He shut off the water and stilled her hands. "Don't lie to me. Why are you crying?"

"It's not crying. I was just … I was thinking about how good you've been to me, how you've dropped everything and taken care of me and made me feel safe and, you know, it sort of made my eyes water."

"That's crying."

"No it's not."

"Okay. But it is. And for the record, there is no price for what we give to each other."

She snorted. "I don't know what that even means."

He turned her around and dried her hands with the dishtowel hanging off a nearby cabinet handle. "It means that when we do things for each other, we do them freely, because we want to. Not because we feel an obligation to, or because we owe each other anything, or to manipulate each other emotionally. I do things for you because it makes me happy to do things for you."

Thinking of her decision last night to move out and his surprisingly strong reaction to it, she said, "Even when making me happy—or making me less _unhappy_—makes _you_ unhappy?"

"You mean like today?"

She nodded.

He lifted his hand, brushed her hair out of her eyes, skimmed his knuckles down the edge of her face, along her hairline. Eyes on hers, he admitted, "I've had to bring you home to the cop and play nice even when I wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face and drag you back home with me."

"Why didn't you?"

"Assault your boyfriend?"

"You know what I mean. Why was I with him? Why wasn't I with you?"

He shook his head. "I know you hate hearing how you're different, but the old you would never come right out and ask me that."

"Maybe that was half of our problem. And you told me to ask questions if I had them."

He looked unsure about responding for a moment, but in the end he held her eyes and said, "I never gave you the impression I wanted much more than a sexual relationship."

"Bullshit."

"I'm telling you the truth. And there was a time I used to be able to convince myself that was all I needed from you, too."

"I still say bullshit. I would have to been blind not to see that you were in love with me. Don't forget I've been told all the stories. I've talked to Carl, Eddie, Lula, Connie, my sister, Joe, Tank and Les. I know a lot. The protection, the cars, the Stiva thing, holding that lady at gunpoint, and how freaked you were when you couldn't find me … you killed that Abruzzi guy for me? Guys don't do shit like that just for a piece of ass, Ranger."

"Abruzzi committed suicide," was all he had to say to this.

"Did the _other me_ believe that?"

"Steph, I'm not saying I didn't love you, or that my actions didn't show that. I'm saying I never gave you an impression I wanted more."

"Did I give you an impression I wanted more?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"You gave the impression you expected more from me than I was currently giving you. And I had the distinct feeling it was far more than you expected out of Joe."

"And you didn't want to give it," she guessed.

"I didn't _have it to give_ then, Stephanie," he corrected. "I do now."

"And here you come back to a broken me," she said a little sadly.

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. "You're not broken. You're my partner, Babe. That's a lifetime proposition. I take my partnerships very seriously."

"I thought Tank was your partner."

"Different kind of partner."

"So I'm more of a naked partner?"

He smiled, his first genuine wolf grin in the last 18 hours. "We'll get there."

She slid her hands over his shoulders. "Promise?"

He kissed her lips softly, tenderly. "Promise."

Leaning into him, hands on his oh-so-hard chest, she tipped her face up, silently asking for a different kind of kiss, needing him to show her that there was a part of him that wanted her, the _new her_, the only her she could offer.

Ranger took a long time just looking at her face, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of her neck. His dark eyes roamed over her features; he was seemingly content to take his sweet time.

For once there was no hint of sadness or regret in his fathomless eyes. He was just looking at her, not looking for someone else. "So beautiful," he whispered as he bent to kiss her. The kiss was long and wet and deep and then it was a bunch of kisses, each a bit more intimate than the last, each involving more from their hands and their bodies. Somehow they'd managed to fumble their way halfway down the hall towards her bedroom, her top gone and low-rise jeans unzipped, his shirt untucked with Stephanie's hands at the snap of his cargos.

There was a sharp knock on her front door and Steph pulled back, startled. "Am I expecting someone?" she panted out.

Ranger's breathing wasn't much better than hers, and he looked a little bemused to find that they were halfway to her bedroom and that he'd lost control like that. "Hector. I called him on my way back here. I thought you and I should come up with a security system we could both be comfortable with."

She considered being offended, but it seemed a wasted effort. Her boyfriend was in the security business and her apartment's security admittedly sucked.

He found her top, turned it right side out and handed it back to her. "Probably we shouldn't do any kissing in your apartment or mine unless we have a chaperone."

She frowned, wondering if he intended to put off becoming intimate with her indefinitely.

Reading her face correctly, Ranger shot a pointed glance down at his still bulging fly, then back at Stephanie. "Steph, I want you. This you. But I'm trying to do this right. I'm going to date you, even though I'm craptastically bad at asking you out, and we have shit luck with dates.

"Then I'm going to try to seduce you," he told her. "And if it wouldn't be too much to ask, it might be fun if you pretended just a little resistance to my advances. Like maybe thirty seconds of—and his voice went to an amusing falsetto—'No, no, no, Carlos, I'm not that kind of girl.' After maybe five minutes of _that_, it would be perfectly acceptable to say things like, 'Oh, yes, Carlos. You're amazing! Harder!'"

He was teasing her now. She felt her face split into a grin that matched his. She couldn't believe how happy she was in this moment considering how badly they'd both botched the night before.

"So someday soon I'll be able to kiss you in my apartment sans chaperon, and scream your name in the throes of passion?"

Ranger said seriously, "Of course. But just so you know, you don't really scream. You just sort of go shuddery and breathless. Sometimes you squeak a little. Then you're in a post-orgasm coma for at least five minutes."

Hector knocked again; a patient employee if ever there was one. Stephanie narrowed her eyes at Ranger, giving him her mock-affronted look, straightening her top, and checking that her pants were zipped.

As she watched Ranger readjusting his slowly deflating hard-on, she said, "For the record, that wasn't even my sex kiss. That was my big feelings kiss."

He laughed, and it loosened something in her chest that had been wound tight for days. "God help me when I experience your sex kiss," he said.

She followed him back out to the den and had to step around a duffle bag, a large cosmetic case she didn't know she owned, a suitcase and a single laundry basket filled with clean clothes. Ranger must have just dumped her things here when he got back. "I thought I said you could leave some of my stuff at your place."

"Oh, I did." Before he opened the door he grinned and said, "I retained possession of all your best panties."

…

Ranger watched Hector affix the final sensor, satisfied that Steph's door was secure enough that they could both sleep peacefully when he wasn't with her.

He realized with a pang that he would be sleeping alone tonight. No sprawled out Stephanie to hog his bed. No voluptuous ass to snuggle up against, no silky soft handful of breast to cup. No more crazy hair to accidentally lie on or get tangled in. No morning stupor to witness. No nocturnal molestations from his undersexed girlfriend.

He was going to miss her.

Badly.

Stephanie suddenly appeared in the open doorway, smiled first at Ranger, then at Hector, who was just packing up his tools. Looking back to Ranger she said, "It's almost six. You wanna order pizza?"

"Pino's?"

She rolled her eyes. "Duh."

Ranger smiled, pulled his phone off his hip and dialed. Hector handed Stephanie the security remote keypad, a small thing she could hook on her key chain.

Hector started trying to explain how to use the remote to Steph using bad sign language and very basic broken English. Ranger turned and stepped away so he could hear well enough to place their order.

Finished, he turned around and saw that Steph was still looking down at her palm, only she was somewhat leaning against her doorframe, seeming suddenly tired.

Hector shrugged at Ranger and shook his head. "Ella no comprende."

Ranger thanked and dismissed Hector. Steph never looked up from her hand.

"Babe?"

Nothing. She just kept staring at the remote. "I can't do this," she told him.

He took the pad from her hand and held it out between them. "Steph, it's simple. This button here is what you push to arm it-"

"This isn't going to work," she said.

Ranger looked back at her, confused. She was still staring at the remote, in _his_ hand this time. "Babe, of course it's going to work, so long as you don't leave it in an exploding car or shoot it."

"That's not your line."

She wasn't making any sense. She didn't look right either. She'd suddenly gone pale, like she was about to be sick. "Babe, is your head hurting? Maybe you should lie down. Let's get you inside-"

He put a hand under her elbow to guide her back into the apartment and she jerked her arm away.

"That's not your line, Ranger!"

At a loss, he dropped his hand and stepped back. "Stephanie, you're not making any sense. What do you mean that's not my line?"

She looked him in the eyes then, and he saw the most terrible and wonderful combination of things he'd ever seen. He saw a singular disgust.

And he saw _the knowing._

He realized all this just as she was pushing against his chest, shoving him out of her doorway, hardly comprehending what she was saying as she slammed the door in his face. But now, just a few seconds later, he could hear her words clear as a bell, like an echo in his head.

_This is where you tell me to repair my relationship with Morelli, you son of a bitch!_

…

Five minutes later, Ranger was still there, locked out of Stephanie's apartment, and seemingly out of her life. He stood with his forehead resting on the cool metal of her door, just above the peephole, hands braced on the chipped and gouged frame. "Stephanie," he said, voice low, for what had to be the fifteenth time. She hadn't said a word since she'd shut him out, but he could hear her quietly crying. Clearing his throat he tried again. "Open the door, Stephanie. Please."

"Go away!"

Finally hearing her voice, he slid his hand from the frame to the door where he imagined she was mirroring his pose just inches away.

"I can't leave you like this, Babe."

He heard her laugh humorlessly, then sniffle back her tears. "Sure you can. Just pretend you fucked me six ways to Sunday for twelve hours straight, strap on your watch and _go_."

A kick to the gut with a steel toed boot would have been more pleasant than hearing her version of that particular morning after, but he supposed he deserved it, even two years later.

He stood there like that for another ten minutes, trying to coax her to let him in. He had to see her. He needed to talk to her, touch her, anything. But she was an immovable force; she wouldn't change her mind. She also threatened to shoot him through the door if he even thought about picking the lock.

They'd come so far, both him and old Steph and him and new Steph. He'd made a decision and he was sticking to it. He wanted her in his life, and he wasn't going to give up now. Failure was not an option, and neither was retreat. He closed his eyes and visualized what he wanted and how he'd make it happen. He put all of his command, his dominance into his voice and said, "Stephanie. Open the door. _Now_."

The elevator at the end of the hall dinged, doors sliding open, revealing a plainclothes Joe Morelli. His detective badge was affixed to his belt, and his eyes were warily speculative. He was definitely on duty.

From inside the lift Mrs. Bestler announced, "Second floor, guns, ammo, and hot Cuban buns on sale in the deli."

Morelli shook his head, thanking the old lady, then ambled over, hands stuffed in his pockets. When he was within about three feet of Ranger, he stopped and propped a shoulder against the wall. Ranger pressed his forehead back to the door and gave it a hard _thunk_ as he closed his eyes again.

"How's it going, man?" Joe asked.

Ranger twisted his mouth. "Been better. She call you?"

"Nope. Nosy neighbor from across the hall called it in to the station. Had to see the groveling for myself."

"Fuck you."

Joe laughed as he rapped a knuckle against the door. "Hey Cupcake, why don't you let Manoso in? He's scaring your neighbor—guy thinks he's a terrorist."

"Why don't you go fuck yourself at the Tasty Pastry and write about it on a bathroom wall!" Steph snarked from inside the apartment.

Joe flinched back at her tone, frowning at the door. He jerked his thumb in the direction of Stephanie's voice. "She on her period?"

"I heard that!" Steph shrieked, making both men cringe.

"Dude," Ranger chastised. "She got her memory back."

"Wouldn't that make her happy? What'd you do to piss her off like this?"

Ranger shook his head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Steph crowed. "You spend the entire night in my bed_, ruining me_ for all other men, and then you don't eve kiss me goodbye? And _then_ you tell me to, what was it, repair my relationship with Morelli! Who does that?"

Joe's eyebrows shot up. He looked back and forth between Ranger and the door, eyes wide. Lips tucked inward and making a time out gesture with his hands, he shook his head. He was silently sending Ranger the _hell no, I'm done with that kinda crazy_ signal.

Seemed Joe was on board with his and Steph's permanent breakup plan.

Ranger said quietly, "She doesn't mean _now_. She's talking about a couple years ago."

Joe's face changed entirely, from that of an ex-boyfriend relieved of his burdens, to that of a patently affronted—and current—Italian boyfriend.

Fuck. This was not going well at all.

"You were on a break, Morelli." Ranger sighed.

"What break?" Morelli spat back.

"Abruzzi!" Steph hollered through the door.

Joe stepped in closer. "You _fucker_."

"Excuse me?" Steph said, incredulous. At least she wasn't crying anymore.

"I meant Manoso, not you, Cupcake." He turned back to Ranger, arms crossed over his chest. "I _knew_ I couldn't trust you with her."

Ranger squared off to him then, propping his own shoulder against the wall to face Joe. Morelli didn't look happy, but he didn't have his hand on his gun, either. "I flat out _told you_ you couldn't trust me with her."

Joe sighed and looked down. "Yeah. You did."

Hands on hips, Ranger turned back to the door and grimaced. He shouldn't allow Morelli to see him so weak, but he was too goddamned worried about Steph to give really give a flying fuck what the cop thought.

"Poor stupid bastard," Morelli muttered as he studied Ranger. Then, "I'm waiting downstairs. You've got two minutes. She doesn't let you in, I'm coming back and escorting you out."

Morelli actually gave him ten minutes.

And he was decent enough not to say a word when Ranger joined him in the waiting elevator.

Alone.

* * *

><p>*Spanish translation: She does not comprehend.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Ha! It's not even Friday! Surprise!

First, a little follow-up for last chapter: In case anyone noticed or wondered about Ranger's unusual use of 'Dude' in the previous chapter (when Joe suggested Steph was 'on her period') … You may be amused to find that it is a canon Ranger-ism, and I wrote that little slice of that segment in homage to the Lean Mean Thirteen Ranger/Joe/Stephanie conversation in chapter 14. When Steph was bitching at the end of the chapter, Joe told Ranger it was her time of the month. Ranger's only response to him was, "Dude." It cracked me up in LMT so I had to pay some tribute (even if it was in a book after 12 Sharp—you know, the last book in the series?) ;)

Secondly, please keep in mind many readers perceive what happens in the books differently. There are Babes and Cupcakes, and of those two groups, you still can find subsets of people who don't read the scenes the same way. Before you go forward reading the last chapter, you should know I'm of the camp that never read Stephanie as upset, insulted or degraded in Hard Eight after the night of the 'Deal' and the 'go back to Morelli' speech. I think as Babes, we don't like what Ranger said and how it made _**us**_ feel. But I've never read Steph as holding some great grudge because of it.

Lastly, I'd like to thank all who have followed the story, and especially those who took the extra time to review and offer both encouragement and feedback. That's writer food! A few of you came out of fan fiction reading and/or writing retirement to read and review me, and I want you to know that I appreciate it so, so much. A special thank you goes to **xboxbabe** for finding time to beta this 8700 word monster chapter while she's busy with her own family _and_ smack in the middle of publishing her own fabulous Stephanie Plum fanfic story, Time Gone Awry.

Now enough of my yammering. Hope everyone enjoys the final chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

"What do you mean he's not here?"

Tank looked at Stephanie like she had a few dots missing off her dice. "It's nice to see you too, Bombshell."

"I'm sorry. Hi Tank. I'm looking for Ranger and he's not in his apartment and he's not answering his phone. Can you use your Merry Man juju and see if you can find him for me?"

Both of Tank's substantial eyebrows shot up toward his bald pate. "Merry Man juju?"

Twisting her hands, Steph nodded maniacally. "Please?"

He glanced around the office—Ranger's office—and stood up to look at the seat of his chair as if to check he hadn't sat on something … or someone. Settling his extra-large frame back into Ranger's ergonomically designed yet luxurious leather desk chair, he said, "Yeah. Just checked. He ain't here."

"Tank."

"Bombshell."

"I got it. You're mad at me and you don't want to help me."

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"I got my memory back the day before yesterday and I might have said some things I didn't mean to Ranger."

Tank eased back in Ranger's chair and folded his hands over his stomach of steel. Tank might have been the size of a refrigerator, but he boasted the same lack of body fat, and the same rippling muscles that Ranger did. "So no more sharing the ins and outs of your wacky menstrual cycle in the break room, or telling Lester his penis is going to fall off if he keeps sticking it in anything warm blooded?"

"You'd be correct on the menstrual cycle. I'm not going to apologize for the Lester thing; someone had to say it."

"So you remember the last couple months too?"

She nodded and looked off to the side towards Ranger's window. The blinds were closed but she didn't need to see outside to know it would be growing dark soon. It'd been a little over 48 hours since she'd talked to Ranger. She'd tried to call him a few times yesterday, but his phone had gone directly to voicemail. She really should have come to find him sooner. "I remembered a not so great moment first. Which reminded me of a bunch of other not so great moments. And then I remembered the last couple of months, and then I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?"

"Tank, it's hard to explain, and I really think I should be having this conversation with Ranger."

Tank blew out a breath and sat forward again, drumming his fingers on the desk. "He came in for one meeting yesterday morning, told me he was going offline for a few days."

"Did he seem mad or upset?"

"He didn't seem anything, he was all business." Tank shrugged. "All I knew was you moved out the day before and I figured either things were fine and he was with you, or things were not fine and he was busy fixing things with you."

"Yeah, no. That's not what was happening." She collapsed in one of the guest chairs. "Which car did he take? Pull up his GPS."

Tank just stared at her, probably because she sounded a teeny bit like she was giving an order.

She was only apologizing to one person today, and Tank was not that person. She could be polite though. So she said, "Please," as she jerked her chin toward Ranger's computer, giving Ranger's second-in-command her patented _get on with it already_ look.

He smirked, presumably amused by her audacity, and called up the GPS program on Ranger's hard drive. A minute later, Tank blinked at the computer screen and chuckled low.

"What?"

Instead of answering, Tank stood, tugging his coat off the back of Ranger's chair. He did a quick body check for weapons, patting his pockets for keys as he headed for the door. "Well, come on girl," he called over his shoulder. "Time's a-wastin'!"

Steph hurriedly grabbed her purse, nearly having to jog to catch up. At the elevator she asked, "Where are we going?"

Tank looked down at her benevolently, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm taking you to your destiny, Stephanie Plum."

"My destiny?" No pressure or anything.

"Or my funeral," he added as she stepped onto the elevator. He turned, his eyes flicking down to her purse. "You got a gun?"

Oh boy.

…

Tank pulled to a stop at the base of what looked to be a residential driveway. She hadn't seen a house for miles and she still didn't see one. There was a high wrought iron fence punctuated at intervals with even taller stack-stone pillars stretching across the length of the property border. Two large, black-clad guards flanked the gates looking like a matched set of foreboding, yet hunky sentries.

On closer inspection, Steph realized said sentries were wearing winter weight Rangeman windbreakers not unlike the one she was wearing now. "I thought you didn't know where Ranger was."

"I didn't know he was here until I pulled it up on GPS. You didn't ask me where Manny, Cal and Brett were. This job has been on the books for weeks.

Manny ambled over to the driver's side as Tank rolled down his window.

"Need to see some ID," Manny clipped, straight faced.

"I showed your mama ten inches of my ID last night, and she's _still_ walkin' funny. Now open the goddamn gate, and quit fuckin' around."

Manny grinned and bent lower to look across the interior of the car. "Is that Stephanie Plum I see?"

Stephanie couldn't help but grin back and then jumped when there was tapping on the glass to her right. Turning toward the source, she saw Cal gesturing to lower her window.

"Hey Cal."

Cal gave her a dopey grin. "Hey, sweetness. You here for Dr. Keeling's birthday bash?"

"Uhh…"

Tank must have lost what little patience he had with these two. He yanked the earpiece off Manny's head, held it to his own ear and barked, "Rangeman One to Rangeman Three, this is Big Papa, come in Rangeman Three."

Stephanie snorted at Big Papa but quickly squelched it when Big Papa glared at her.

She couldn't hear what Rangeman Three—Brett?—was saying through the earpiece, so she smiled at poor Manny, who was stuck in a clearly uncomfortable bent-at-the-waist position since he was still semi-attached to his earpiece.

Tank said, "Front gate and requesting entrance." Then he huffed a mildly put-upon grunt, pulled an iPhone out of a cargo pocket and tapped the front a few times with his thumb. Scanning down the screen, he found what he was looking for and said, presumably to Brett, "Alpha Niner Zulu Charlie Whiskey Zero Kilo." Some sort of password, Stephanie surmised.

Tank slapped the borrowed earpiece into Manny's gut, eliciting a grunt from the man.

The gates seemingly opened by magic. Manny thumped the roof of the Explorer twice. "You kids have a good time!"

After being greeted at the top of the circular driveway by Brett, they pulled forward under a stately stone portico attached to the side of the house. There was a super-sized carriage lantern hanging overhead and smaller matching pseudo gaslights flickering along the supporting pillars and the connecting wall.

A very young and cute Jake Gyllenhaal looking dude –not a Rangeman—opened Steph's car door for her. Once both she and Tank were out of the vehicle, he climbed in the driver's seat and drove off into parts unknown.

The property was _that big_.

Stephanie followed Tank up the stone steps that connected the portico to the massive front porch. They came to a stop in front of a pair of country French solid wood double doors, the kind that came to a rounded arch at the top. Tank rang the gonging doorbell and they waited.

Steph burrowed her hands in her coat pockets, shifting from foot to foot. She was pretty sure she was underdressed for anything that happened in a house like this, even cleaning. She looked down at herself, grateful at least that she didn't have any jelly donut stains on her white cowl neck sweater, and that her low-rise jeans didn't have any holes in the knees. Yet. Probably she shouldn't worry, but focusing on what she was or wasn't wearing was better than giving into her nerves. What was Ranger was going to say when he saw her? What was _she_ going to say when she saw him?

She was hoping for divine inspiration.

The door on the right swung open revealing another adorable young man in a company logo shirt that matched Jake Gyllenhaal's. This guy looked uncannily like a twenty-two year old version of Ryan Gosling, and she felt herself inexplicably blushing like a fangirl as he helped her off with her coat, which was ridiculous, because clearly he wasn't _the_ Ryan Gosling. Dammit.

While the man took Tank's coat, she watched as a Ryan Reynolds-y looking fella came out of the noisy room across the hall carrying a full tray of empty cups and mugs. Whoever this Dr. Keeling was, he'd accomplished some sort of hot household help hat trick, the lucky bastard. Probably the good doctor was straight and didn't realize his good fortune.

Bringing her attention back to Cute Ryan Gosling Boy, Steph couldn't help but grin when the kid winked at her while Tank was busy adjusting his shirt to conceal his gun.

Tank held out a hand indicating Steph should precede him down the hall. Steph had just taken a few steps when she heard a _whap_. Turning, she saw the kid rubbing the back of his of his head and scowling at Tank.

"What the fff-"

"You work for McGinty, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know I was in the army with McGinty? Known the man for nearly 15 years."

"Yes, sir," the kid responded warily.

"You know who else was in the Army with McGinty?"

"No, sir."

"Ranger Manoso. You know that name, son?"

The kid paled. "Yes, sir."

"That ass you were just checking out belongs to Ranger Manoso."

"Hey!" Steph automatically clapped her hands over both rear checks assessing they were still in her possession.

Tank and the kid ignored her. "You shouldn't be looking at _any _ass when you're on duty whether you're a valet, a doorman or a bodyguard. I'm pretty sure McGinty would agree with me there."

"Yes, sir," he croaked. The poor kid looked like he was thinking about throwing up.

"If you were checking out asses on duty, and McGinty found out, what would happen?"

The kid swallowed. "I'd be fired, sir."

Tank nodded. "You'd be fired. That's right. Do you want to know what would happen if Manoso found out you were eyeballing his woman's ass the way you just were?"

The boy flicked his eyes to Steph and she gave him a little _I'm sorry_ pout in apology for Tank, even though her ego was enjoying the little boost. The kid looked back at the black man towering over him. "Yes sir. I mean no, sir, I would _not_ like to find out, sir."

Tank slapped him on the back so hard the kid was forced to take a step forward to keep his balance. "Good choice. Now get back to work."

Steph started walking further into the house knowing Tank would catch up with her in two strides. "That was a little harsh, don't you think?"

Tank was kept from answering when a tall, distinguished man came out of the noisy over-crowded parlor-style room they were just about to enter. "Tank, my man, good of you to come. And what's this beautiful lady here doing with a stodgy old fart like you?" The man smiling at her now seemed to be in his mid to late forties, sandy hair, graying at the temples. His skin was warm, like a maintained a perpetual tan, his jaw chiseled, and his eyes were an unusual mossy green, flanked by crinkling laugh lines. She thought that if she weren't so in love with Ranger, she might be susceptible to this guy's particular brand of sexy.

Tank yanked at Steph's arm, making her stumble in front of him. "Dr. Keeling, this is Stephanie Plum." Dr. Keeling clearly recognized her name; his smile had gone from a cordial curve of the lips, to a warm and knowing grin.

Tank continued his introduction. "Stephanie Plum, this is Christian Keeling, New Jersey's finest OB/GYN, and husband to Celia Keeling," Tank smirked down at Stephanie, "…formerly known as Celia Manoso."

"No!" she blurted. Tank had brought her to some private Manoso family function? At least she hoped it was a private family function. What if it was some sort of weird doodah convention? But no, Cal said it was Dr. Keeling's birthday party.

Ranger was going to kill her.

Or kill Tank.

She started digging wildly in her purse. "I don't think I have bullets. Do you have any extra bullets?" She said this as she was heading for the front door. Tank snagged her arm, easily dragging her back.

"Where's Ranger?" Tank asked the host, who seemed to be quite amused by Stephanie's discombobulation.

The tall doctor stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks and rocked back on his heels. "So this is the infamous Bombshell Bounty Hunter."

"It wasn't my fault!" she blurted. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Wait. Infamous in what way?"

Christian just smiled at her and answered Tank's last question, only directing it toward Stephanie. "Last I heard Ranger was out back with Marcus. Just follow that hall, go through the kitchen and out the door off the mudroom." He turned back to Tank and threw his arm over the larger man's shoulders, ready to guide Tank into the party in progress in the parlor.

"Wait, Tank! You're not going with me?"

Both men turned back to look at her. Dr. Keeling smiled indulgently at her. Tank, however, looked like a parent putting his kindergartner on the bus for the first time. "This is a journey you have to make alone, Bombshell."

Tank dug into one of his cargo pockets, his face relaxing as soon as he found what he was looking for. He held out his hand. "Here. Just in case."

He was already through the doorway, and half swallowed by a boisterous crowd of men when she opened her hand to see what he'd given her.

A pair of bullets.

"Hardey-har-har, Tank!"

With friends like these, who needed enemies?

Stephanie followed Dr. Keeling's directions and found herself wending her way back toward the sounds of melodious feminine laughter. Once at the entrance to the kitchen, she saw it was one of those multi-use oversized kitchen/hearth room combinations, shaped in an L. The working portion of the kitchen was on one end, sitting area and fireplace on the other, large dining table situated where the two open rooms intersected.

It was enchantingly warm, done in what Stephanie considered a tasteful mix of country French, French provincial and Tuscan. The floors were faded brick, and the cabinets in the kitchen area were a creamy distressed white. There was an over-sized dark wood rough-hewn table with bench seats that looked to be seating at least a dozen women at the moment. There was a large center island serving as an hors d'oeuvre station and bar, though she could see through a doorway to a formal dinning room where is was clear more substantial food items were offered, along with a large cake. The counters were some sort of stone or unpolished marble, and the white cathedral ceilings were finished to look like old plaster accented with dark wood beams. Any fabrics in the room were mismatched in a shabby chic style and held the common theme of deep reds and golds.

Stephanie's presence had gone unnoticed so she took the time to study the women in the room. At least a dozen of them had to be Ranger's blood relatives if their coloring, flashing dark eyes and unearthly beauty were any indication. There were seven or eight Caucasian women, two African American women, and one of Asian decent. Ages ranged from preteen to mid sixties. The women were sitting or standing in clusters, eating, drinking, gossiping and laughing.

An attractive woman, who'd come to the counter nearest Stephanie to pour herself a cup of cocoa, was the first to notice her. While the woman was extremely petite, her cautious and dark eyes were strikingly Rangeresque, as was the color of her chin-length bobbed hair. She handed Steph the fresh mug of cocoa. "Hi there. I'm Helena Manoso-Perez." The tiny woman rose up on tiptoes to peer behind Steph. "Did you arrive with someone?"

Steph reflexively looked over her shoulder, then mentally slapped herself. "I'm Tank." Duh! "I mean, I arrived with Tank. To see Rang—uh, Carlos. I'm Stephanie. Stephanie Plum. I came with Tank. Shit. Did I say that already?"

The room was suddenly silent and Steph didn't know where to look. There had to have been at least forty sets of eyes scrutinizing her.

A woman who appeared to be in her late thirties stepped forward then, looking like a much taller version of Helena. Her jet-black hair was lightly shot with the occasional strand of silver, and was smoothed back into a sleek French twist, jeweled hairpins accenting the simple style. Her silky jersey dress proved to anyone with eyes that her body could stop traffic. "Marshmallows?" She was holding out a crystal bowl full of miniature marshmallows, an elegant sterling silver spoon handle sticking out from amidst the fluffy pile.

"Please," Steph croaked, telling herself not to be intimidated.

Yet another woman stepped over, this one shorter, like Helena, but she had at least twenty years on both women. Her hair was also jet black with an artful undyed strip of silver starting just to the right of her widow's peak and running the length of her long hair, which was twisted into a complicated chignon. The woman tipped her head slightly to the side, index finger to her lips, studying Steph with shrewd eyes. "Stephanie Plum. We expected you to come with my Carlos. And I'm Angelina, or Lina, by the way, Carlos's mother." She didn't have a full-on Cuban accent per se, but there was a hint of Cuba in her words, and Steph would venture to guess it was by way of Miami. She definitely rolled her Rs when she said Carlos.

Stephanie had the absurd urge to take the tips of Lina's fingers, hold the fabric of her own imaginary skirt out to the side, bowing deeply to offer the woman a royal curtsey. Instead she eloquently said, "Um …"

The taller woman stepped closer with her marshmallow bowl and tipped it toward her. Steph helped herself to a scoop. The goddess marshmallow bearer said, "I'm Celia. Carlos was supposed to ask you two weeks ago, when I planned this party for Christian, but he said he wanted to wait until after your first date. Said he didn't want to scare you off too soon."

Lina said to Celia, "I don't understand how can they be living in sin and never go on one single date." Steph wanted to say _hey, I'm right here!_ Lina turned to Steph. "And Tank has said you've been my son's _woman_ for the last three years. Yet it seems there was no dating. What kind of relationship is that, Stephanie?"

Holy crap on a cracker. "It's, uh … you know, Mrs. Manoso, it's sort of complicated-"

Lina made a spitting noise. "This is all Carlos ever says. It tells me nothing. I will light candles for you," Angelina told her. "I don't waste my time on Carlos. He is man, and is therefore beyond all help."

Steph took a noisy slurp of her cocoa and set it on a nearby counter. "Speaking of Carlos…"

Angelina waved her hand as if whatever Steph had to say was unimportant. "So how do you feel about children?"

"Um…." Lina grabbed Steph's wrists and held her arms out to the sides, presumably scrutinizing her waist and hips. She felt like a horse on the auction block. Steph nonchalantly sucked at her teeth, hoping the inspection wouldn't venture to an oral cavity search.

Pursing her lips, Lina nodded approvingly. "Nice wide hips. You know Carlos had very broad shoulders, even as an infant. Nearly split me in two, that boy. And you are how old? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?"

"Uhh…"

"Thirty," Celia offered helpfully. "Lester said she's thirty. Christian says that's generally still fertile," she told Mrs. Manoso. "Might take them a few months, but there should still be some decent eggs in there." Steph gaped at Ranger's sister. Celia just winked back, smiling. "You're not pregnant now, are you Stephanie?"

"No!"

All the Cuban women frowned at her horrified reaction. Perhaps they were insulted on Ranger's behalf. "I mean, no, I'm not currently gestating Ranger's fetus at this time. And I'm not living in sin with him anymore. I moved out two days ago. But for the record, we weren't really living in sin. Your son has been quite the gentleman.

"Being a gentleman is not going to get me more grandchildren, Stephanie," Lina said very seriously.

"But we're not married," Steph answered carefully.

"Get pregnant and you will be."

"Mother!" Helena said, shocked. Celia just snorted, the rest of the women tittered behind their hands.

"What?" Lina asked the room at large. "He's thirty. She's thirty. I'm not getting any younger, here."

"Uh…" _Oh, come on, Stephanie_, she told herself. What was up with all the _uhs_ and _ums_? She sounded like a spineless dork. Someone needed to smack her.

Folding her arms over her chest, Lina said, "And what is this moving out nonsense? This is a step backward, in my opinion."

"Uhh, I'm just going to…" Steph patted her purse and looked around, trying to decide her best escape route.

Just then, a gust of cold air blew in from across the kitchen, a door slammed, and then there were bizarre clomping sounds coming from the adjoining room.

"Take those skates off _now_ Marcus!" Celia barked. She'd make a good drill sergeant.

"How did you know it was me?" replied the young, disembodied voice.

"Because your Uncle Carlos knows I'd shove a sharpened skate up his ass if he wore hockey equipment in my house."

"Celia!" Her mother admonished.

"What?"

"Language!"

"Oh please," Celia said as she pointed over to the dessert counter. "Not ten minutes ago you said my flan looked like burnt baby shit."

"Well it does," Lina said. Steph shuddered. It really did look like it could have been scooped out of a diaper.

A gorgeous lanky teen with sandy hair and mocha skin peered around the corner from what must be the mudroom. He spotted Steph and gave her the patented Manoso 200 watt smile. She could swear she saw a sparkle shoot off one of his teeth and there was some dimple action involved. Jesus.

"How you doing?" he rumbled, voice surprisingly deep for a boy Stephanie guessed was, at most, seventeen.

"Take your damn skates off, Marcus, and stop flirting with your uncle's girlfriend."

He ducked back into the mudroom for about ten seconds and then he strutted in to the hearth room, ostensibly to warm his hands by the fire. He was about 5'10" in his stocking feet and he had all the makings of a Lester-style heartbreaker. He was on the thin side but the breadth of his shoulders indicated he'd probably nearly killed Celia on the way out, and would likely be built like Ranger one day.

"You Stephanie?" he asked, looking at her over his shoulder, single eyebrow annoyingly arched.

"How do you all know me?"

The kid shrugged. "You're in the papers a lot. You popped up on the Manoso family radar after the Julie thing. Ella won't say shit, I mean _poop_," he quickly corrected himself, giving his mother an apologetic grin. "But to be honest, Tank and Uncle Lester gossip like a couple of cheerleaders in 7th period study hall."

"This is true," Celia chimed in. "Especially if you feed them."

Ranger's mother looked thoughtfully at Stephanie. "Ranger won't say much, but he has said you were hurt in an accident and you have lost your memories."

"Yeah … well … I kinda found them the other day. My memories, that is. Funny thing, really, how it came back. Not funny _ha-ha_, actually, just classic Stephanie Plum. Um, yeah, I just…" Steph tapped at her temple. "It's all back now, plus, you know, I've got the last few months as a bonus feature, so..." She looked around and saw that the facial expressions of her audience varied from vaguely confused to stunned disorientation. Stephanie stupor. She had to fix this. "If Ranger seemed a little, uh…" She tapped her head again, "I was a little scrambled up at first, so I, uh, well I said some things to Ranger and… It's been a crazy few days with the memory thing and the moving thing…" she trailed off lamely. The room at large seemed to be digesting Stephanie's eloquent soliloquy.

She thought it best to jump ship while they were still mesmerized by her silver tongue. "Is Ranger out through there?" she asked, pointing in the direction from which Marcus had come.

Stephanie walked through the mudroom, nearly tripping over a pair of black skates and a Jason-style hockey facemask. She'd just swung open the back door when Celia caught up with her carrying a coat. It was a huge cream-colored man-sized down filled coat, sure to be warm, but also likely to make her look like she weighed forty more pounds than she did.

She quietly thanked Ranger's sister for the loaner coat. Slipping it on with Celia's help, she noticed the Burberry tag on the inside and the light musky citrus scent of what must have the owner's cologne.

"It's Christian's." Celia told her, buttoning Stephanie in like she was a child, making her smile despite her nerves. Concentrating on the snaps, Celia said, "And Mama's worried your ovaries will get cold and your eggs will freeze."

Stephanie laughed and Celia added, "You think I'm kidding? She's been convinced since Julie's kidnapping that you're her last chance at grandchildren from Carlos."

"I don't … Ranger doesn't…"

"No pressure. But just so you know, as far as any of us can tell, you're the only woman that's been a regular part of his life. Ever. This is even according to Lester and Tank. That means something, Steph."

Rocked by her sobering words, Steph swallowed, jarringly shifting from nervous to terrified. "Do you have any advice?"

"Do you love him?"

Ranger's sister seemed so kind and earnest just now, Steph didn't even think about lying, not for a second. "More than anything."

"Tell him that."

Stepping out the door, Steph stood on the stoop and squinted out into the sloping white canvas of the backyard. The patio was brick and had been shoveled recently. To the left, there was a good sixty-foot radius area where the snow had been trampled with thousands of variously sized and shaped footprints, clear evidence that snow play was taken seriously in this family. Once her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, Steph could see there'd been a bitter snowman sword battle. One unlucky snowman lay on the ground, his head violently separated from his body. He had two twig Xs for eyes, indicating his death.

It only took her a moment to pick out where Ranger was. Beyond the trampled area of snow, the landscape was a smooth unbroken sheet of white, except for a single winding walkway, punctuated at each serpentine curve by an evergreen shaped mound of snow and an adjacent glowing garden light.

At the foot of the path was a small frozen pond. A few ornate iron park benches were placed at intervals around the pond, and what looked to be a gazebo was on the opposite side.

Affixed to a pole that blended into the nearest copse of trees was a pair of security lights. Only one was glowing now, it illuminated half the pond, and she could see Ranger's dark figure standing just on the margin that encompassed the no man's land between light and the shadow.

He had what she assumed was a pile of pucks on the ice near his feet, and he was shooting simple penalty shots into the net Marcus must have been guarding earlier. Considering the lack of opponent and the repetitive ease with which he made every single identical shot, it seemed his mind was somewhere else entirely and he was just going through the motions.

She'd nearly forgotten the butterflies in her stomach while she'd been dealing with the Manoso females. Now she'd realized those butterflies, while unmonitored, had gone completely out of control. The creatures were now apparently afflicted with grand mal butterfly seizures _and_ ADHD, they'd invited in some spastic hummingbirds, and had seemingly opened up a mosh pit in her gut.

Everything in her being said _this is too hard, too scary. Turn around. Leave him alone. Retreat. _This was Ranger. He was a private man and he would be furious, not just with her intruding on his family, but for catching him so unguarded.

But then she remembered the look on his face when he came home and found Un-Stephanie living with him. So happy and so sad at the same time, the love so obvious on his face, it shamed her she ever doubted him. Thinking about his face, the myriad of expressions she'd witnessed from him over the last several weeks brought her to the night she told him she was moving out. How hurt and betrayed he looked, and how he'd laid his feelings bare for her to see, even if he thought he'd hidden them.

She couldn't run away. They'd come too far.

Not watching her footing, Stephanie slipped on a small patch of ice halfway down the paved path, the bottom surface of her faux riding boots making the slightest scraping noise against the cement.

Ranger turned towards the sound, and though he was half in shadow, she could see plainly how quickly he'd shifted his grip on the hockey stick and reached for his weapon.

She froze right where she was, put her hands up—palms out—on either side of her head. "It's just me," she called out, her voice sounding thready and thin, even to her own ears.

Ranger stood there for the longest time, not moving, as though he was having a very hard time placing the woman on the hill in his current habitat.

Steph felt the same way when she ran into her dentist at the grocery store.

Eventually Ranger moved, and so did she. Not taking her eyes off the man on the ice, Stephanie picked her way carefully down the remainder of the path while Ranger moved his hand from his weapon and watched her progress toward him.

He stayed where he was, holding the hockey stick like a shepherd's crook, watching her. As she got closer she could see he was in skates, not that it affected his balance or posture.

At the end of the walkway was a narrow strip of land covered in snow, dividing the paved landing from the pond. She eyed the eighteen or so inch width of piled snow, wondering if she stepped in it, if it would suck off her boot. Even if it didn't, she knew she couldn't walk across the ice to him. The soles of her boots were hard, slick and impractical.

Ranger was more in shadow now than he was before and she wasn't certain if it was happenstance or by design. One thing was certain; he was waiting. The next move was hers. She just needed to get off her metaphorical ass and make it.

"I…" the single syllable came out as a croak, she cleared her throat and started again. "I hope this is okay, my being here, I mean. You weren't answering your phone, and I went to Tank-"

"My phone's been off. It's fine." His voice was clear and audible, but held no particular inflection. She was a little hurt he didn't skate towards her, close the chasm, but she supposed that was a petty thought considering the pain she must have put this man through in the last few months, let alone the last few days, even if none of it was intentional.

She didn't know where to begin; her list of unintended infractions was miles long.

She pushed her hands deep into the lined pockets of the coat she was wearing, more as a nervous gesture than a perceived need for warmth. She was so anxious she couldn't feel anything.

"Before I start," she told him, making her voice loud enough to carry across the ice. "I just want you to know that I'm really sucky at apologizing. Everyone says it. That's the main reason I almost never do it."

Ranger said nothing.

"And also," she continued nervously, "if I totally derail this apology by trying to push the blame back on you somehow, you should know I'm premenstrual. So if you feel your little Cuban temper coming on, you're just going to have to bank it until after my period."

"I don't have a temper," he said skating towards her with an innate male grace she wouldn't have imagined.

"_Ha!"_ Whoopsies. "Wait, forget that. I take back that _ha_. Even though you so _do_ have a temper. That's not why I'm here. But can I also just say, for future reference, when I tell you to _go away_, I do _not_ mean fall off the face of the earth. Pretty much you should ignore anything I say while shrieking. Or at least give me a 24 hour cooling-off period to offer a retraction."

Ranger stepped off the ice, over the small bank of snow, and then he was towering over her more than usual, his skates adding an extra few inches to his height. His eyes were dark and unreadable, which wasn't surprising, though it made her heart hurt a little that he was back to hiding everything he was feeling from her.

His hair was loose, black and silky and he was wearing nothing more over his clothes than a black quilted vest. Under the vest was her favorite cream-colored sweater of his and on closer inspection, she realized what she thought had been dress slacks were really black cargo pants. He didn't have on gloves.

"You are pretty bad at this," he said.

"Just you wait. It'll get worse, I'm sure."

She watched as he leaned the hockey stick against the back of the ornate wrought iron bench. Then he sat down and started unlacing a skate. It was then that she saw what she'd missed, the pair of black combat boots tucked away underneath the bench.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she sat down beside him, close enough that their thighs touched, and focused her attention on the gazebo across the pond. "Your family seems nice, but your mom is kind of scary."

"Scary like Kathy Bates in Misery or scary like your mother."

"Scarily _like_ my mother. She talked about lighting candles. There were questions about my ovaries."

Ranger shook his head as he pushed his heel down in his boot, yanked hard on the laces.

She kind of knew what she wanted to say now, but it was so hard to make herself say it. With all of her memories returned, the new ones included, she was feeling all kinds of vulnerable and embarrassed, like she'd shown Ranger all her cards _and _her scrabble tiles. Only it was worse than that. It was like she'd shown him her high school diary, her hidden 'period panty' collection, and the 6th grade school picture her mom had kept where she'd had a tumor-sized zit near the center of her forehead, and the hint of a booger in one nostril.

Talking about your feelings was humbling and horrible and icky. Talking about your faults was unthinkable. It gave other people powers over you. She desperately wanted Un-Stephanie to sweep in and come save her.

Ranger had both his boots on and tied now. He was just sitting there, elbows on knees, fingers loosely woven, looking at the ground between his feet.

Waiting.

"I'm sorry," she said.

From the corner of her eye she saw the smallest dip of his head, encouragement for her to continue.

She heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry for the last three years. And the last two days. And for what I said through the door. I'm sorry for pretty much everything in between all that."

"If it makes you feel better," Ranger said, "I'm sorry for a lot too. I deserved what you said through the door." She thought he was done talking until he added quietly, "You sorry you met me?"

She turned on him then, shocked. "No! God, no. I just … I wish I had done some things differently. Listened better. Actually seen what was in front of me."

"What was in front of you, Steph?"

_Everything_, she wanted to say. Loyalty. Trust. Passion. Possession. Unconditional love. Strength. Patience. Hopefully forgiveness. "You," her voice cracked. "I didn't know I had _you_. I missed it. I missed everything."

Ranger didn't move, didn't say anything. Stephanie went on, "You said a few weeks ago that I don't really like dealing with the hard stuff. And that unless I asked a direct question, it meant I wasn't ready for an answer." She closed her eyes and tried to dig deep for some courage. All she found was a jumble of butterflies, crushed up hummingbird parts, and some undigested peanut butter and olive sandwich. No help there, unless she wanted to vomit.

"I was afraid to ask you the hard questions. Afraid I wouldn't like the answers. Joe was easy. We made it look hard, we didn't get along most the time and we disappointed each other more than we made each other happy … but I knew it was easier. I knew…"

"You knew what?" Ranger asked. She could barely hear his voice over the sound of her pounding heart.

Keeping her eyes squeezed shut, she forced out, "I knew that falling back into old patterns with him would be so much easier than putting myself out there to be rejected by you."

Silence reigned for long moments. Realizing she hadn't spontaneously burst into flames with her admission, she edged one eye open. Still looking at the ground, Ranger simply nodded, almost if she'd just confirmed something he'd always believed.

"About out night together…" Ranger started.

The stupid cold air was making her stupid eyes water. Ugh! She sniffed, turned away to wipe her eyes while pretending to scratch her nose.

At least he'd brought up something fairly easy. She knew the answer to this one. It's all she thought of since he'd left. "I was really confused when I got my memory back," she said.

"Confused how?"

Headlights briefly broke through the tree line across the pond, making Steph pause. Ranger said, "That's the valet either parking or retrieving a car."

She nodded and continued. "What happened that night of the deal and what you said the next day didn't really upset me at the time. I mean, not like over-the-top upset me. What I said the other day, the way I said it, isn't how I really how I feel. That wasn't even really how I felt then, when it happened.

"It's hard to explain, but what I feel for you now, what's been there for a while … well, I was feeling that two days ago when I got my memory back. I was feeling it at the same time I was remembering the night of our deal and the morning after. So it made me think your actions and words were more hurtful, more callous than they really were. But they weren't. We were friends, sort of. We hooked up. I wouldn't have minded a kiss goodbye, but I was still smiling when I brushed my teeth that morning. I didn't expect anything much to change between us. I think maybe I was a little disappointed, after the fact, that you only wanted sex from me, but I also remember thinking I was a hypocrite for even thinking that. I was just clarifying things the next day, mostly to myself. You didn't lie to me and you weren't cruel. Just blunt, I guess."

"I didn't say what I said to be hurtful," Ranger said, "but I could have said it differently. Better. I wish I had. I've always been honest with you. Back then I was almost able to convince myself we could keep things simple. I didn't kiss you goodbye because if I had, I would have made love to you again, and it might have sent the wrong message. I knew I couldn't give you what you wanted at that time. But I was tempted, believe me."

"What did you think I wanted at the time?"

"More."

Stephanie shrugged. "I think I came to want the _more_ the longer I knew you. But I didn't expect it then, not if I'm honest with myself. Hell, I didn't know what I wanted from Morelli, either. I was a hot mess," she said laughingly as she scrubbed at her face.

They were silent for a time when Ranger suddenly said, "You made _me_ want more, and I resented it." She looked at him, surprised by his admission.

"So you _do _resent me."

"No. Not you. I resented that I had no control over what I felt and when. That's never happened to me before. But I wouldn't call what I felt for you resentment. It just felt like I missed the beginning of the game and the reading of the rules. Morelli was already halfway around the board and you still expected me to figure out how to win."

"Oh." Put that way, she felt kind of like a shmuck. If she really thought about, she always _had_ expected more from Ranger than Joe.

"I know I'm partly to blame for things, Steph. I said things in ways … I may have never lied to you, but I could have been clearer. More honest. I never gave you a sign I could offer more if you pushed for it. I never asked you exactly what you wanted from me. Part of me did resent the fact that you never just walked away from the cop and flat out told me what you wanted. That you didn't push me for more. But that makes _me_ a hypocrite. And you weren't ready to ask the questions."

They both thought about that for a moment as a burst of muffled laughter leaked from the house, floating across the cold air and interrupting the silence.

Ranger chuckled. "I have to say, as much as I _didn't_ enjoy our little talk through your apartment door, I wish you could have seen Joe's face when you told him to go fuck himself."

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God, I forgot about that." She turned to Ranger, hopeful, because he was looking at her now, his face much less guarded. She said, "What came back to me first was our deal night, the death cooties, the cookies. Then it was the next morning, and then I heard all the cryptic things you've said to me over the years and I probably interpreted in the worst way. Then I remembered the last few months. And then I was embarrassed. Embarrassed that I'd given away so much to you, all the things I'd kept hidden, embarrassed that I'd pushed my way into your apartment, pushed myself on you."

"Babe-"

"I'm not done. Then Joe was there and I was back in time again. God, it was so confusing. I had all those jumbled thoughts; it was like I was in two heads at the same time. All the worst of my memories came back first. Things with you, bad shit between Joe and me, crap with my mom, The Dick, that skank-whore Joyce…. I have to tell you, if you were seeing the previews that I was seeing, you'd have wanted to walk out of the movie too."

"Babe-"

"Let me finish, Ranger. I had all those shitty old memories, the times I wasn't so happy. And then I had the thoughts of Amnesia Steph, the one who thinks maybe Steph was kind of a loser with no husband, no kids, no identifiable career path … someone who would willingly string two guys along at the same time … I couldn't imagine how you could possibly love a person like that. Do you know that as scared as I was, part of me hoped the old me wouldn't come back? I really didn't like the old me all that much."

"Stephanie, stop. I understand."

"—And that's why having that memory of our night hurt. The person in love with you remembered it, just like it had happened the night before. It's about as logical as being pissed off at someone for doing something awful to you in a dream, but there it is." She turned to him then, "Wait, what?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her into him, laid a kiss on her head. "There's nothing to forgive."

This seemed far too easy. It had to be a trick.

He rubbed his hand up and down the sleeve of her coat. "So you remember everything that happened since you lost your memory."

She nodded against his chest, her heart still racing, but the knots of tension in her stomach had loosened and she was enjoying his warmth and his scent.

"You said the _person in love with me_ remembered our night. You meant the new Stephanie."

Oh, shit. See, she knew there was a trick. Explaining her less than rational reaction the other day was actually not that hard, now that it was behind her. Throwing in vague phrases like '_the person in love with you'_ was a cheater's method of admitting your feelings. It was actually wimpier than the pathetic _I like yous_ she used to stumble over for Joe.

She looked down at his pants and flicked a nail over a loose thread on one of his pockets. "She, uh, the new Stephanie was falling in love with you. But she didn't even feel half of what I feel about you, or even know you like I do, so I'm pretty certain she couldn't, uh... I uh…" _Are you kidding me,_ she screamed at herself. _Just say it!_

But nothing came out. Not from her at least.

Ranger had no such qualms. "She knew I was in love with you, said it was plain as day to her. That's something you've implied you didn't know." His reminder made her instantly defensive.

"That's not fair. She didn't have 30 years of bullshit cluttering her head or any memory of your stupid mixed messages. If you had graduated from Rutgers, never joined the military, and had become some geeky accountant or something, you wouldn't be carrying two guns and a knife and thinking things like marriage and pregnancy were stupid."

Ranger gave her a squeeze. "Touché."

"I'm sorry. See, I'm terrible at this."

"The worst," Ranger agreed solemnly. "But Babe, considering we're a Latino and Italian-Hungarian couple, the fact that no one's screaming, calling each other filthy names, waving their arms violently, or throwing things, to me that says we're doing pretty well."

"Mostly it's because I'm too cold to move and the pucks are all the way over there," she said pointing to the pond.

He actually laughed at this and the next thing she knew, he'd hauled her into his lap and was kissing her like a soldier returned from war. It was heady and intoxicating, and when it turned tender, it nearly made her weep.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips, a secret she couldn't keep inside one more second.

"Thank Christ," he whispered back, making her laugh.

"You have to say it too," she prodded.

"I love you Stephanie Plum, even though you're more emotionally stunted than most men, and disappointingly less slutty than your Un-Stephanie alter ego."

"You should have taken advantage of me," she told him seriously. "As long as the orgasms were earth shattering and plentiful, I would have eventually forgiven you."

"I need to get that in writing for next time."

They smiled at each other, but both of them seemed to realize the same thing at the same time. That her injury had been serious, could have been much more serious. They'd been lucky.

Incredibly so.

Steph lowered her eyes to his chest and asked, "What was with all that pining, Ranger?"

He sighed, his cool hands sliding under her coat and sweater, to knead at her lower back, or just to touch her skin. "I'm not going to apologize, Stephanie. It's how I felt."

"Fine," she said, still not looking into his eyes. "But promise me if something happens to me in a forever kind of way, you won't, you know, pine for me indefinitely."

He pinched her waist, making her squirm. "Babe, I hate to break this to you, but I only had about twelve hours of pining left in me."

She gaped at him. "I was only twelve hours away from a Ranger induced orgasm? I don't know whether to be proud of Un-Stephanie or hurt that you'd let go of me that easily."

"Try not to see it as letting go. Try to see it as a metaphysical ménage à trois," he teased.

"Okay, now you're just being a pig."

"Don't be hurt. You're the only girl in the world who could make me get over you."

"That makes no sense."

"Says the girl who's had two first kisses with the same man, fallen in love with him twice, and speaks about her amnesic alter ego in the third person."

"So did you."

"It seemed safer to play along. Un-Stephanie was a little scary."

She grinned at him, thinking of something else. "So all I had to do to make you snap was move out?"

"You only _think_ you moved out."

"No," she said slowly. "I'm pretty sure I moved out."

"Have you actually unpacked? Did you notice I kept 51 percent of your clothes? That's a controlling share. Also, I got Rex back from Angie yesterday and I'm acting as an interim guardian until you come to your senses as his mother and return to Haywood where you belong.

She felt a huge burst at happiness in her chest at his words. _Where you belong._

"You'd use my son as a bargaining chip?" she asked.

"Sex, rodent offspring, nothing's off the table."

"Don't think I don't remember your cagey answers and responses to my questions when you first got back. We don't do butt stuff … _yet_? And I also remember someone not being all that alarmed by the mention of the M word."

"Maybe one of those things is the clincher for the other."

She'd smack him if his wolf grin weren't so damn sexy. "You are such a pig! You've kept it hidden all these years."

"But you still love me," he said, smiling up into her face.

He was right. She loved him, loved everything about him. The good, the bad, and everything in between.

She realized then he was telling the truth when he said he loved both of her. All of her. That everything _was_ her.

She also realized that certain things happen only once, if at all, and most people don't realize the importance of them until it's far too late. They don't know to savor it, to appreciate the moment, to hold on to it, to stretch it from a moment to a lifetime.

But Stephanie had a second chance. A rare second opportunity to grab onto her happiness with the most wonderful, frustrating, arrogant, loyal, beautiful, obstinate, amazingly patient man.

A man who loved her.

The best and the worst of her.

"And you still love me," she told him, knowing it was true.

They fell for each other, not just once … but twice.

If that wasn't the stuff of fairy tales, she didn't know what was.


End file.
